I Write Complacent Notes of Correspondence, Not Love Letters
by twilightstargazer
Summary: Lily and James exchange letters throughout their summer. Madness ensues. Set in the summer before seventh year. L/J.
1. Week 1

_**Hello all! This fic is being co authored by my good friend, Tish (long-live-arthur-pendragon over on tumblr) and, of course, me (Nai). It's our summer project. 8 weeks. 8 chapters. All letters. Let's begin.**_

_**Disclaimer: We do not own Harry Potter.**_

* * *

**Chapter 1- Week 1  
or  
I Write Potions Essays, Not Love Letters**

Dear Evans,

Hullo, Evans; how's your summer going so far? It's been what, four days? Merlin, it seems longer than that. Mine has been terribly dull without your lovely face here to brighten my day. After all, who else is going to threaten to eviscerate me and feed my insides to the Giant Squid? That was a bit graphic, love. How _is_ the Giant Squid by the way? Are the two of you still in holy calamari together? Last time I saw him he was chatting up the merfolk. Watch out for him, Evans; you don't know where those tentacles have been. Who knows how many diseases they can carry? You're too young (and pretty, of course) to contract any deadly infectious diseases. I'd miss you if you died. No one else can keep up with my witticisms like you do.

My life has been so tedious lately, that I'm actually writing to you, of all people. The last few days have been dead boring. Peter has gone with his mum to Dover for the week. Lucky sod. He's there frolicking on the beaches and I'm stuck up here where it's raining. Is it raining over there? I swear to Merlin, it's pouring kneazles and hippogriffs. Remus is home. He said he'd come by next week though so maybe I won't be reduced to playing Quidditch by myself. And Sirius, well I hardly ever know where he is or what he's up too. Last I checked (the night we returned) he was mumbling something about going to look at motor circles. What in the name of Merlin's left toe is a motor circle? Is it some sort of Muggle thing? I don't understand. Why would he want to buy a circle? Muggles are so strange. The other day I was reading a book written by one. It was about a wizard from Oz or someplace like that and it made no sense at all. The witch was green, Evans. Was she bitten by a dragon? She probably should check that out in case she's infected. Of course, if she's green then chances are she probably already is infected. Must have been pretty serious too, since all it took was a bucket of water to do her in.

I probably should have said this earlier (maybe you're thinking that some half wit has decided to pen you a letter from St. Mungo's Spell Damage Ward) but it's James. James Potter. The bloke you threatened to tie to the tracks at King's Cross and let the Hogwarts Express run over him on its way back (you're a very violent little thing, aren't you? I blame it on the ginger. Don't you ever extinguish that fire). Yeah, that James Potter. Transfiguration prodigy, Quidditch extraordinaire, the dashing Marauder with fantastic hair.

Hello love. Missed me?

Now, before you scoff, roll your eyes and chuck this letter in the fireplace, read on until the end because I promise that I'm not wasting your time. At least, I hope you think that I'm not wasting your time. Please don't hex me.

I started doing the summer homework that was doled out during the last week at Hogwarts (Merlin above, this is only for the summer; imagine how the N.E.W.T.s classes are going to be. It's been nice knowing you Evans. Surely by the first week I'm going to want to pitch myself off the Astronomy tower. You'll cry at my funeral, right dear?) However, I'm not sure if you realised - you probably did; no one was begging you for help from behind - but I wasn't there for the last Potions class. I didn't skive off, I swear. I had booked me a night and day in the Hospital wing. Really charming place. Pomfrey is an absolute doll, yelling and screeching at me to take my potions. I told the woman that I was going to need a new pair of eardrums by the time I was ready to leave and she boxed me over the head. She's almost as pleasant as you, Evans. Point is, while you all were off soaking your brains in Potions infused knowledge, I was being abused by a banshee disguised as a healer in the Hospital Wing and did not learn anything from that lesson. Because of this, I did abysmally on our exam and old Sluggy decided that the best way for me to understand something that I wasn't in class for when he had you read the textbook was to write an essay on it.

Three bloody feet on Le Chevalier's principle- which I know nothing about by the way- in addition to the four feet on poisonous bases and their remedial counterparts. I tried using my charm to trick him out of making me do this. However, for reasons unknown to me, not everyone is as compelled by my allure as you are. Imagine that.

Right. Back to potions. Just carry a bloody bezoar in your damn pocket. I'm so tempted to write that for him under the antidote part but then he might kick me out of the class or something. Slughorn does not appreciate my wit and highly developed humour one bit. It's sad really. He has to put up with so many Slytherins on a daily basis, you would think he would be grateful for my hilarity.

So what do you say, Evans? Help a poor bloke out? I'll be forever in your debt. I'll stop Quidditch parties at twelve. I'll show you where the kitchens are. I'll owl you a box of sugar quills- you're always gnawing on them during Charms; I'll buy you them for the entire term. Just help me out, please?

Begging you from his knees,  
J. Potter

* * *

Potter,

Well, you were right; it was some half wit that was writing me. It was absolutely imperative for you to tell me who you are. Otherwise, I would have mixed you up with Christopher, my correspondent from St. Mungo's Spell Damage Ward, who I've been writing since forever. He, along with the Giant Squid, is ranked at first place for my affection. Of course, I would be able to tell the difference between the two of you. First off, I'd never insult a dear friend by comparing them to you. And secondly, Christopher's handwriting is much neater than yours. Merlin, Potter; did you ever go to a penmanship class? I spent the better part of twenty minutes squinting at the parchment. Now I understand why you're a specky git. Summer's been fine, by the way. The Giant Squid sends his regards. He's staying over. We're planning on running away to Siberia and eloping, you see. There's something about slimy tentacles and multiple suckers that just makes a girl go weak at the knees. And I know _exactly_ where those tentacles have been, thank you very much. Not all male beings frequent broom cupboards as much as you, James Potter.

Sirius was talking about a motor_cycle_, not a motor circle, whatever the hell that is and I hope to God that you're wrong about him buying one. Do you know what a car is? A motorcycle is like a car except a thousand times more dangerous. If Sirius gets one, then I'm never going in a car ever again. I rather like breathing and not having my internal organs splashed on the road for everyone's viewing pleasure. And The Wizard of Oz is a classic muggle story. If you ruin it for me I'll ruin your face before tying you to tracks. I promise to drive the train over you myself and I swear to relish every second of it.

(I'm not violent the slightest, you just bring out the worst in me; but if you call me 'ginger' one more time then you'll see violent. I'll make what the Slytherins did to you look like child's play. My hair is _red_, Potter; get your damn glasses checked. They do nothing for your appearance so they should at least improve your vision.)

Is playing Quidditch by yourself some sort of euphemism? Because if it is, I really don't need to know what you get up to in your free time. You have me picturing Peter in a pair of swim shorts skipping through the waves now. Thanks for that. I could have lived my entire life, equipped with no less than forty cats, without having that mental image. Tosser. At least your friends are coming over soon. I have to wait until the middle of August to see mine again. Until then I'm stuck with my joy of a sister. Eugh, bite me.

I almost did chuck your letter in the fireplace, but that's only because I was trying to get it away from my ruddy sister. She seems to be under the impression that any post that comes is for her.

I remember that Potions class. It was the best one in a long time. I didn't have to worry about becoming covered in green sludge again. My potion was actually the best that day. Ten points to Gryffindor _and_ no ignorant berks hissing in my ear or tugging on my hair? It was absolute bliss. Merlin himself smiled on me that day.

Two things you should know to get you through life, Potter:

1. You are not funny. You have no wit or humour for Slughorn to appreciate. And even if you did, he still hasn't forgiven you for that little stunt you and Sirius pulled back in second year. Really? Charming slugs to appear whenever he said the word 'wand'? Could you get any more unoriginal? I'll give you ten for magical ability, but you'll get a two for creativity. You should have made it something more creative; like causing the cauldrons to dance or some tosh like that.

2. When trying to bribe a girl to help you out with your Potions homework, you pull out all the stops. You offer her chocolate, you twat. Chocolate gets you places in life. Especially with women. Keep that in mind next time you're trying to woo your latest victim.

Le Chevalier's principle is fully explained on page 269 of your textbook. There's enough there to get you an A at the very least. And maybe if you write like a normal person- that is, fitting less than thirty words in a line- you can comfortably get three feet of parchment. As for the poisons and their antidotes, I can assure you that if _you_ write 'just use a bezoar' you'll get a T. I asked him about it. It's all fine and well for me to do that in class but not for the essay. Honestly, what sense does that make?

You hair isn't fantastic, you're not a transfiguration prodigy nor are you a quidditch extraordinaire and you are a Marauder but you aren't the dashing one. That title belongs to Sirius. He's also the one with fantastic hair. And I am completely impervious to your so called charm and allure (none of which you have by the way.)

Forever keeping your head at a normal size,  
L. Evans

* * *

Dearest Evans,

I have to admit, when I received your rather prompt reply I was hesitant to open it lest you charmed it to turn me into a pin cushion or something. Needless to say that I was very relieved - not to mention stunned; bloody hell, I'm pretty sure Sirius thought he would have to _Ennervate_ me - that there were no curses or bewitchments cast and only two feet of parchment from you. By the way, Ginge, you are in no position to criticise someone's handwriting Miss 'Everything- Has- To- Be- A- Goddamn- Loop.' I think the only thing loopier than it would be your dearest Christopher from spell damage.

Girls like multiple suckers, eh? Well, I can assure you Evans that I'm plenty good at sucking. And the whole 'bite me' kink? Never knew that you were into that; I'll file that away for future reference, along with your other helpful bits of advice. I'm very funny, in case you hadn't realised. I can charm your knickers off any day (and then we can get down to all that biting and sucking you mentioned). By the way Evans, I have much more decorum than to get down to things in a broom closet. And even then, not as much as you insinuate. Also, it took me a whole two minutes to realise what you meant by the whole 'playing quidditch' thing. When I finally did figure it out, I laughed so hard that I fell off my bed. You're a cheeky little thing aren't, you?

Sirius decided he was buying the motorcircle thing after all. It's a bit monstrous if you ask me. When he turns this thing called the 'throttle' it even roars like a dragon. Sometimes it shoots fire as well, although it's from the wrong end. I don't trust these muggle contraptions, Evans. They're secretly all plotting against us.

Thanking you for the help,  
J. Potter

* * *

Evans,

Okay, I guess I deserved to have that letter spew green slime all over me. I apologise for all the biting/ sucking remarks. (No I'm not.) (All right, yes I am, but mainly because you might send another blank letter to curse my ears off or something.) You managed to get green slime all over my desk and clothes and face. Merlin, Evans; what was in that thing? I think my face is still stained and no amounts of cleaning charms can get it out fully.

Because of your little stunt though, not only is my Puddlemere jersey ruined (I don't care that it was old and Wilton's not playing anymore; the man's a fucking legend) but it also fell onto my Potions book, right where the lesson on Le Chevalier's principle began. So now I am back to square one, knowing nothing. Would you mind explaining it to me? Please?

Hoping you would agree to,  
J. Potter

* * *

Evans,

Please. I'm begging you. Please Evans, help me out. I'll stop poking fun at your handwriting. Hell, I won't ever call you 'Ginge' again. Don't send back Wrock empty talon-ed again. _Please_.

J. Potter

* * *

Potter,

Sending me a chocolate frog is not a proper bribe. Most girls prefer that their recently acquired sweets not try to escape from them, but I guess it was an all right effort. I managed to eat the sucker before it escaped. Don't think for a moment that that makes you any less of a specky git than before. In fact, now you've moved up to a specky, twat-faced git. The only reason I'm writing this is because your owl (Wrock? Really?) sat on my desk practically begging me with those little brown eyes of his. I swear to God, Potter, if you told him to do that I'll curse your bollocks off. Git. Stupid, specky, twat-faced git with terrible handwriting and whose mind cannot be cleaned, not even by the most powerful bottle of Mrs Scower's Magical Stain Remover or the most potent '_Scourgify'_ to ever be cast.

In layman's terms, Le Chevalier's principle states that if the equilibrium is disturbed by changing conditions, the position of equilibrium moves to counteract the change. The main changes we have at our level would be temperature and the addition of other ingredients. It's basically the reason why most potion ingredients are used in pairs and it helps with the essay on poisons and their respective antidotes. Each pair has a so called good and bad half. The 'bad' half is used in the poisons while the 'good' half is used in the antidotes. There are some exceptions to this rule of course; bezoars being the main one. Of course, in addition to the whole good and bad thing, obviously there's going to be other ingredients that would react with whichever one (the god half or the bad half). The Potion would readjust itself in a way so that a new equilibrium is achieved. The tell tale signs of new equilibriums include colour changes, smoke spirals, changes in consistency and a host of other things, all of which lead towards either the end of a step in the making of the potion or the end of the potion itself.

I'm copying the pages that you need for the rest of the essay (the history and whatnot) from my textbook and attaching it to this letter just so you won't hound my poor soul any more.

Crossing her fingers in hope you're caught in the middle of a tragic Quidditch accident,  
L. Evans

P.S: Don't think for one second that you have any effect whatsoever on my knickers.

P.S (again) (would it then be called P.S.S. or P.P.S?): Since you said that it was your favourite jersey, I guess I can tell you how to get the stain out. If you have House Elves, just tell them that it is Bubotuber based. They'll know what to do. If not, then pull that silver spoon out of your mouth and get ready to hand scrub that bugger with a scoopful of aforementioned magical stain remover. Soak your head one time while you're at it. Maybe it might help clean some of the filth that's built up in it.

* * *

Evans,

Thank you for finally replying. Also, you're a bloody goddess, you are. Yes, my owl is named Wrock. I christened him that when I was a wee toddler and he was a hatchling. I thought he was a rock, okay. He's grey and black and I wasn't - as you so eloquently put it - a specky git as yet. The name just stuck with him, I suppose. Not all of us were witty enough to bestow twenty syllable names to our pets at age five.

After spending almost half an hour deciphering what it is that you wrote (your handwriting is atrocious), I have to come to the conclusion that in addition to being a goddess in disguise, you're bloody brilliant and should write a Potions textbook. It would make a lot more sense than this dung they've got us using. Even though your handwriting gave me a veritable headache, I would have gotten an even larger one had I only the textbook to use. You're brilliant. I'm going to be saying this until the end of time. Hex me as much as you want, I'll still be singing your praises.

Knowing that you're lying about wanting me caught in the middle of a tragic Quidditch accident (you'd miss me too much),  
J. Potter

P.S: I actually do have an effect on your knickers; remember that dare from fourth year? When I had to steal a pair of them? Never thought you'd be the pink frilly type, love.

P.P.S (I believe it would be called P.P.S): My hands are rubbed raw now, but I finally have my shirt back. Lily Evans, you are, really and truly, a fucking goddess. I said it before but I'm stating the fact once more. What would I do without you?

* * *

Potter,

Without me? Hmm, let's see, you might have been expelled by third year. You're lucky I like Remus (you're still a specky twat-faced git with terrible handwriting; I don't like you _at all_), otherwise I wasn't going to place the blame on Peeves for half of the mischief you lot get up too.

As far as names go for pets, I guess Wrock isn't all that bad. I had a pet fish once when I was five. I named him Fish.

Your handwriting is still much worse than mine is, by the way.

Thinking that maybe death by broomstick collision is a bit harsh and we should tone it down to wrestling with the Giant Squid for my affections,  
L. Evans

P.S: You still have those? Merlin, that's slightly creepy. Not to mention scary. I would order you to give them back but first of all I gave them to you off my own free will (I have to admit, seeing you streak through the Great Hall would have been entertaining to say the least; you were a scrawny little matchstick. Still are) and secondly, god knows what you and Sirius did to them. Not to mention Peter. (Remus is the little saint who certainly would not do any sort of depraved deeds to my undergarments.) You can keep them.

P.P.S: I know.

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_**Cookies to anyone who catches the blatant 10 things I hate about you reference. Also, Le Chevalier's principle (as far as we know) is not a real thing in the wizarding world. But it is based off a real thing in the chemistry world. Hell yeah chemistry nerds.**_

_**Lots of Love,**_

_**Tish and Nai xoxo**_


	2. Week 2

**_We forgot to mention in the first chapter that we'll (try to) update every week. Whoopsies. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter, though. Our love; you have it._**

**_xoxo_**

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**Chapter 2- Week 2  
or  
I Write Insulting Pleas for Help, Not Love Letters**

Dear Evans,

I know it's only been a few days since I last wrote you a letter (or, you writing me actually) but once again I've found myself bored stiff. Not as much as before, mind you - Remus and Peter are here now (not now as in now 'now'. I meant before, when I was actually writing this letter; however depending on when you actually receive this letter, it may very well be 'now') and we're getting up to all kinds of things that's driving dear old Mum mad. Of course, if you were to ask her she'd say that our shenanigans are driving her mad but I know that she secretly loves it whenever we charm the teacups to sing, almost as much as you like it when I charm your knickers right off.

After some of your previous letters, I finally cornered Sirius and asked him about this motorcycle business. Bloody hell, Evans, I wish I didn't. His eyes lit up - you could practically see the crazy in them at that point - and he went off on some long-winded speech about throttles and clutches and the like. I haven't the foggiest idea what the blighter was talking about. I blame you for this. Now the git's gone and got it in his head that he's going to buy one and make it fly. A flying motorcycle. I've seen pictures of those things in magazines he has stashed under his bed, and let me just say that that it's going to be insanely wicked or kill the both of us because everyone knows that he's going to find a way to drag me onto that contraption, so I should just quit while ahead. Most likely the latter. You'll miss me awful if I die, right, love? I tried to get Remus to talk some sense into him but you know how Sirius gets when he has his mind set on something. And Peter is no help with this - in fact, he's adding fuel to the fire because he's encouraging him to buy the blasted thing.

Finally I decided to play dirty and told him that if he bought that thing I would kick him out of my house. It would have worked, except that Mum loves him more than she does me so if anyone's going to get kicked out it's least likely to be _darling_ Sirius. Mum told me herself that she'd faster kick me out since the wanker ran off to her as soon as I was finished threatening him. The nepotism in this place, honestly.

Sirius happened across one of your letters yesterday, by the way. Of course, he wasn't actually able to read anything mind you - I guess your atrocious handwriting has some benefit after all - before I snatched it away from him. Git. He was trying to get back at me for hexing him to grow whiskers. He went crying to mummy and now I've gotten myself in trouble… again. I'm to stay up in my room without any magic, broomsticks or House Elves for an entire twenty-four hours, but you know how intense a friendship I share with punishments and rules. It's only been hour thirteen and I'm just about ready to jump out the window after Wrock. In fact, I've been ready to do that since about twenty minutes into this wretched penance. It's agony. I don't know how Muggles cope. I have newfound respect for them now. To stop me from pitching myself out a window and ending up as nothing more than a James Potter-shaped grease spot, I've decided to write you. It calms me down some to know I'll be making you laugh when you read this. Besides, Mum never said I couldn't use the owls. Even if she did, I'd still owl you. Really Evans, you're all I have right now keeping me sane. I'm stuck with Peter and Remus, who never seem to stop taunting me about you (somehow you manage to be the anchor of my sanity and the bane of its existence at the same time), Sirius, who's out strutting around the place like a bloody peacock, and Mum, who I'm not talking to because of her blatant biasness. I mean, I know Sirius is the favourite son but Merlin, rub it in bit deeper, yeah.

Depictions of my magical prowess, barmy mates and predisposed mother aside, how are you? Not missing me too terribly, I hope. Well, actually I _do_ hope. I'm missing you something rotten and Sirius won't stop taking the mickey. Do me a favour and hex him good and proper for me next time you see him. Between you and him, I don't know which one Mum likes more. Never mind me here; the only son she actually gave birth to. The one with her blood flowing through his veins. In all honesty I've grown accustomed to playing second fiddle to all you berks.

All right, you know I didn't mean to call you a berk. Okay, maybe a little. You're still a fabulous specimen of a human being.

Your unduly slave,  
J. Potter

* * *

Potter,

Breaking news Potter: here in the Muggle world we get by without magic or Quidditch or house elves on a daily basis. Astounding, I know. So I'm sure you can handle eleven more hours without any of those things and not feel the need to off yourself. Or perhaps you're such a colossal prat you'd actually do us the favour. Not keeping my hopes up though - you wouldn't have completed your life's mission to eternally annoy me properly. Besides, even if you did (which I'm certainly going to advise against) who else would write me stupid letters about what trouble they've gotten into today? Poor old Mrs. Potter; I'm surprised she hasn't chucked the lot of you out of her house as yet. How you managed to turn out like a complete clotpole with someone as sweet as her for mother, I have no idea. Honestly Potter, even though I met your mother a grand total of one time (remember that day on the platform? She told me if you ever gave me hell I should just owl her and she would send over your baby pictures. In fact, she did show me some of your baby pictures. You have a pale arse - it's almost as unattractive as your face) the woman is wonderful and amazing and you should stop causing her so much trouble lest I have to come over there and curse your bollocks off.

Give Remus and Peter my love. Tell Remus that I got this fantastic book and I need him to read it as soon as possible. I promise to hex Sirius for you next time I see him. How does giving him a bout of rather painful boils that makes it excruciatingly uncomfortable for him to sit on a motorcycle for any extended period of time sound? Although, I'm glad you know that your Mum loves me more than she does you. Who wouldn't? Know your place Potter, and that that place is beneath me in all sorts of standings (except probably Quidditch, but you don't require a functioning brain for that so it doesn't count).

Things have been rather bland around here, I must admit. Even though I don't have to worry about anyone charming my... everything to turn pink, it's incredibly dull. When I'm not toiling away at homework, I'm lounging in front of the telly (you do know what a television is, right? I know that the four of you took Muggle Studies up until O.W.L.s - well at least Remus and Peter did), having not brushed my hair or bothered to put on what my mother deigns 'proper attire' while munching away on several packets of crisps throughout the course of the day. I'm an absolute vision, aren't I? Also, you're still a big fat hypocrite by calling my handwriting terrible. This is just another way of saying, 'Hey Kettle! I'm Pot. You're black!' You are not allowed to judge my handwriting until yours itself doesn't look like a half demented hippogriff scratch.

Alright, I suppose that that's enough faffing about. It pains me to say this, but I need your help with Transfiguration. Human to animal transformations. It's practically killing me here and the textbook is rubbish (do you even use the textbook? How on earth do you understand that thing?) I think of myself to be rather good at Transfiguration, but as soon as McGonagall starts talking about that I, along with everyone else in the bloody class besides you four idiots, am completely lost.

Don't think for one moment that this means anything at all. You're still a specky twat-faced git who has a much too big head so you can wipe that damn smirk off your damn face. Git. Stupid git who's much too good at Transfiguration (you're still not a prodigy by any means, mind you).

Also, just because it's me who asked for help this time doesn't mean that you're free from being my slave. I can write an all right-ish essay by myself without your help. I'll get an A however; maybe even an E if I talk long enough, repeat the main topics and go past the proper length.

However, since you're my slave, it means that you have an obligation to help me. In fact, it means that you don't have a choice in the matter. Ha! Now you have to help me.

Stupid specky twat-faced git who shouldn't be that good at Transfiguration but still is.

(I must keep your head at a relatively normal size, mustn't I? I mean, after all, I did say that it is my duty to do so.)

Unsure of how exactly I'm supposed to do this,  
L. Evans

* * *

Dear Evans,

Oh, see that there; who needs affection when I have blind hatred? Rest assured, love, my head shall never have the chance to grow with you around. If an ego was a balloon, then you would be a needle. Or a beater's bat in my case. You don't just puncture it; you smash it to bits. You truly are something else entirely, Lily Evans.

Your pride can also rest easily, poppet; did you ever doubt that I would help you? Even without being forever indebted to you, I would still help you out, Evans. You know this. I know this. I'm sure even the fucking Minister of Magic knows this.

Sirius is rolling his eyes and calling me a pathetic pansy. I must go prove my masculinity to this hypocrite before I continue with this letter.

I have proven my masculinity to the prat and have landed myself in another set of trouble by breaking one of the cabinets. Mum was furious. She blamed me even though Sirius is the one who actually broke it. I told the dunce not to duel me inside the house but he wouldn't hear it. And now the cabinet is broken and he got off scotch free; figures since he's the favourite son. So now I'm locked away in my room (again), writing you this letter while my mates are out at a Quidditch match. The things I go through for you, Evans. At least it wasn't Puddlemere playing. If it was I would have gone to that match, no matter what my mum told me. Nothing can stop me from seeing them live in action. There's just something about professional Quidditch matches, you know?

I'll say whatever the ruddy hell I want about your handwriting, Evans. You have no qualms in restraining yourself when it comes to mine so you can take your 'pot- kettle- black,' spiel and shove it up your (admittedly pretty) arse. We're both filthy little hypocrites when it comes to this topic.

Of course you sound like a vision. You're always a vision not matter what. Even with a dozen packets of crisps and unkempt hair. On the bright side, my hair is perfect enough for both of us. Speaking of hair, I think it's time that I confess that I'm surprised that you haven't cursed mine off as yet, what with all the cheeky things I've been saying to you in these letters. Again, it would be rather duplicitous of you to do so since you practically radiate cheek on a daily basis. How is it that you haven't gotten in more detentions for mouthing off to teachers? Really Evans; _that mouth of yours_. It drives me _mad_ sometimes.

I'm going to let you in on a little secret, dearest: all the textbooks assigned to us are shite because the school governors are mainly comprised of pompous, pureblood prats (try saying that five times faster) because the good ones - the really, really good ones that go into all the theory and details - are mostly written by halfbloods and muggleborns. I think you know by now how bigoted the board is. I don't need to tell you that. What I will tell you is that if there's anyone who deserves to get a tongue lashing from the one and only Lily Evans, it's them.

The textbook that my mates and I use is found in the Restricted Section of the library. I'll take you there sometime when we get back out to school. You'd love it. It's secured with a barrage of spells and curses and hexes but we managed to get in because we're brilliant. Oh all right, and because Peter's pretty good at opening locks the Muggle way. _The Transpiring Theory of Terminal Transfiguration: From Animagi and Beyond_. Lovely name isn't it? Blunt _and_ a bit of a mouthful. I guess that's good since messing up some of the more complicated works can kill you. There are only twenty copies in existence and it costs quite a pretty penny. Lucky for you, I happen to have my own private copy that I'm letting you borrow. And when I say private, I mean not even Sirius knows about it and he lives with me so congratulations, love; you're now privy to one of James Potter's many secrets. Feel special.

The book is absolutely brilliant, by the way. Everything you could possibly want to know about human transfiguration summed up quite gruesomely in one large eight hundred page tome. It was written by a bloke called Travis McKnight who comes from a 'disgraced' family what with a squib and a muggleborn for parents. After all, blood means everything these days.

Keep the book for however long you like. I won't have any need for it for the rest of the summer so you can return it to me in person, preferably with a little peck of gratitude.

Hope it helps you,  
J. Potter

* * *

Potter,

A _peck _of gratitude? Not even if I returned it on a day you drank Felix Felicis. Blind hatred? Towards _you_? Surely not. An urge to bash your head in with this rather hefty book you leant me sometimes? Maybe. Blind hatred towards the school board? Definitely.

I'm getting up on my soapbox here but you're the only one here who would let me rant and rave until my hand cramps. Those absolute sodding wankers. I hope you don't mind, but I think those insipid morons significantly bypass you in the race towards 'World's Greatest Prats.' Fucking hell, they might even pass You-Know-Who at this point because while that man is terrible these arseholes are withholding knowledge from ruddy children just because they don't like the author of a textbook. Because the author doesn't come from a family of inbreeding and incest and all of that other sickening shite. I'm so angry right now James, you have no idea. I'm positively livid. I'm shaking because of all the anger I'm feeling towards those piss headed blighters. Ignorant pureblood twats.

I just- ugh. I want to break something. Preferably the necks of those bloody governors. So far I've already pelted several of my shoes at the wall. It's not the least bit satisfying. I think I'm going to have to break some plates if I'm to continue this letter with semi legible handwriting.

(Yes, I will admit that my handwriting leaves a lot to be desired okay. Doesn't mean that you can say anything about it though.)

Breaking things are just so therapeutic, aren't they? I'm just glad no one was home to hear the crashing of plates against the ground or my incredibly colourful language. If my mum was home she would have washed my mouth with soap. Trust me. It's not a very pleasant thing. I guess I just need better practice controlling this mouth of mine that apparently drives you mad. Speaking of mad, I thought I told you to leave your mum's sanity in one piece. I don't care if it was because of a duel in the sow of brazen masculinity. Leave lovely Mrs. Potter out of this. She has every right to keep you away from the Quidditch match.

Actually, I've never been to a professional Quidditch match. You've got me intrigued though; Hogwarts' Quidditch matches have always been the paramount of excitement for me. I suspect that I render Mary partially deaf with all my screaming. Poor dear. She has to put up with my and Jillian's incessant jabbering about all things Quidditch-related more often than not. Jillian's been harping on me for ages to get my bum in gear and see 'a real match' as she puts it. She says that it might make me wet myself with excitement and she sounded cruelly gleeful about that fact. I need to find new mates. Preferably sane ones. Care to join me in that endeavour?

I'll have you know that I can say whatever I want about your less than desirable penmanship since it's much worse than mine. End of discussion.

Contrary to popular belief, flattery (and bribery, as you may have noticed from before) can get you anywhere. Although, I'm quiet confused as to where- not to mention why- you'd want me. There's no need to tell me I look like a vision (especially when you haven't exactly seen me) when I know that I look like a troll. And I doubt anything could cause significant damage to the hair of yours. It's terrible. There's this thing called a comb. Learn how to use it, yeah?

Thank you, though, for the book. I've flipped through it and despite some of the- er, imaginable drawings, it is amazing and maybe I might let you off on being my slave for all eternity since you introduced me to the wonderfulness that is Travis McKnight. Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. I promise not to tell a soul. The only person who'll know about its existence would be you, me and Wrock.

Terribly grateful,  
L. Evans.

* * *

Evans,

End of discussion? Really? You mean I have no say in this at all? Merlin, and you call me a git. And then I go on to tell you how gorgeous I'm sure you look (you always look lovely Evans, don't even try to deny it) and you tell me I have terrible hair. Apparently, flattery gets me nowhere with you.

I can't believe you've never been to a proper Quidditch match. O' Connor is right; you need to get your bum in gear and see a real match. I'll add that to the list. Have you explore the Restricted Section of the library and take you to a real Quidditch match. You'd love it; I'm sure. Make sure you support Puddlemere with me. I'm going to have to convert you before Sirius and O'Connor get their hands on you. One supports the Wasps and the other the Harpies. It's a shame to be associated with those two sometimes. I'll gladly join you on the quest to find new mates.

You're welcome, by the way. For the book, I mean. I'll let you in on another little secret, Evans. I have an entire library of my own. Sirius knows about this, of course; it would be rather difficult to hide an entire room from him. Remus and Peter as well. They never fail to take the piss. I'm sorry that I made you upset though. I guess I didn't think it through properly when I wrote it in. You're right; purebloods are ignorant berks. I really am sorry that I got you upset, but I don't know a single pureblood who's _half_ the witch you are. So don't you worry that pretty little head of yours about such pitiful pisshead.

Grovelling-ly yours,  
J. Potter

* * *

Potter,

It's not your fault. Well, it is a bit your fault, but at least it's better than having some pureblood twat throw it back in my face. On the topic of pureblood twats, I can honestly say that you're a twat but not because of your blood status. You're just an arrogant berk. An arrogant berk with illegible handwriting (you're never going to get me to stop pointing that out).

It's difficult to believe you have a library considering I've never actually seen you reading even a textbook unless you were forced to. You'd probably need to prove it to me someday.

Wanting to get through the rest of her Hogwarts career without getting detention for breaking and entering,  
L. Evans

* * *

Evans,

Are we really back to this? Fine then; you're a right tart with the penmanship skills of a three year old. Do you need dotted letters Evans dear? Because I think you need all the practice you can get.

(If you won't stop then I won't stop; you know you secretly love it.)

Affronted that you are doubting my superb breaking and entering skills thinking that you'll get caught,  
J. Potter.

PS: Please, I read just as many textbooks as you do. I just hide it better since I'm a natural born genius.

* * *

Potter,

Practice huh? Well, I guess that means I need to continue writing you.

(Maybe.)

Possibly thinking of letting you teach me how to do so without getting caught,  
L. Evans

PS: More like a natural born git.

* * *

_**And scene.**_

_**Se you guys next week!**_

_**Lots of Love,**_

_**Tish and Nai xoxo :) **_


	3. Week 3

**_Another week, another chapter. Thanks to all the previous reviewers. :)_**

* * *

**Chapter 3- Week 3  
or  
I Write Complaints About My Sister, Not Love Letters**

Dear Evans,

Maybe I read too much into your last letter or something like that but I got it in my head that that whole 'maybe I'll practice by writing you' bit meant that you were going to write me. I don't mean to hurry you or anything but- yeah. Is everything okay with you? For the past two weeks (well, a week and a half really… but who's keeping track) we've been writing each other almost every day so it's rather odd that three-maybe four depending on when you get this letter- days have gone past and you've yet to write me. I'm probably coming off pushy or something but I really am worried so maybe write me back and let me know that you're okay. I don't know if you've been reading the papers but things are getting even worse out there especially for muggleborns and I don't know what I'd do if something were to happen to you. I said it before, but you really are something Lily Evans.

Mum's driving me mad. Well mad isn't the correct word for it I guess. Like I said, things are getting worse and there's only so much sugar coating the Prophet can do. She's been mumbling more and more to herself about going back out and rejoining the aurors. When my dad died she retired; she was already up in age. She's got her mind set on it and let me tell you, after seventeen years of living with her I can honestly say that my mother is one of the most stubborn women I've ever met- even more stubborn than you. I've been trying to convince her otherwise but each time she hears of a new disappearance or death she gets more determined. Even Sirius tried talking her out of it, to no avail. I would have found it amusing if I wasn't too busy tearing my hair out.

If you thought that my it was terrible before then you should see it now. It's sticking up every which way and not even a comb can help it. In fact I actually broke a comb trying to tame it. It's that bad.

Sirius is still trying to get me back for the whole whisker incident. Last night he tried tipping an entire bottle of hiccupping potion into my wine. Not to mention that he still wants to know why we're writing each other so often. He's told Remus and Peter as well and I'm going to hex all of them until they resemble slugs since they keep on taking the mickey. Gits. When are we going to start the endeavour into finding new mates? Hopefully pretty soon because I don't know how long I can go without one of those losers sniggering every time Wrock brings me your letters. Of course, he hasn't been bringing me any letters from you in a while. They're still teasing me though; however I refuse to tell you why. Classified Marauder information, love. I've agreed to aid you in mischief making and debauchery doing but I'm afraid you're going to have to work your way up the ranks before you can learn all of my dirty little secrets. You can learn some other dirty things if you wish. I'd be more than happy to help you out with that.

(You're going to hex me for that little comment aren't you? Just don't attack the hair if you do… or the face.)

I'm rambling on but I don't know what else I'm supposed to say to you. Just write me back, yeah? I miss you, Lily. Between you and my mum I'm bound to go bald by September. Women. Honestly. There're only two of you in my life and you cause so much stress.

(You're going to hex me for that too, aren't you?)

(Right, it's decided, I'm not going to send you this letter because first off I sound like a fucking pansy through most of it and secondly, the remaining time that I don't sound like a pansy, I sound like a right git. I'm going to rewrite it.)

* * *

Dear Evans,

You haven't written me to me like you said you would. Not going to lie, love, those letters made my day. All I have besides them is Sirius and he's a right blighter going through my stuff all the time. He won't rest until he finds out why we're always talking. I wouldn't put it past him to write you instead.

Wait.

Is that why you haven't written to me? Is it because Sirius is pestering you? If he is I'm going to march right across the hall to his room and slap him. Who does he think he-

* * *

Dear Lily,

It's been ages since you've written me. I hope everything is fine. I miss you.

James.

* * *

Red,

Do you see what you did? He's been trying to come up with a proper way to write you a bloody letter since last Sunday because apparently a whole day without talking to Lily Evans is too much for Prongs to take. Merlin's balls Evans, what are you? Some sort of siren? You know I adore you, Red, but fucking hell. You have James under some sort of spell. It's just 'Lily this,' and 'Lily that,' and if I'm to face anymore of that, I'm afraid that I'll have to put a permanent silencio on him.

Write the boy back. If only for my sake. For all of our sakes really. He's practically pulling his hair out.

The ever charming and handsomer than James,  
Sirius Black.

* * *

Dear Potter,

Sirius sent me some of your drafts. Thought you should know. Go right ahead and hex him if you must.

I'm fine I guess. Not dying. No death eater attacks. All my limbs are still attached so that's always good. I'm just... tired really. I'm so sorry that I've worried you so much. I didn't exactly think it through when I said that I was going to write you. See, I don't have an owl plus I've been busy trying to not kill my sister. You want to know who's a git (besides you of course)? My bloody sister and her whale of boyfriend. Who in their right mind would date a bloke named Vernon for god's sake? I'm going to end up doing something that'll get me in heaps of trouble, which I'm sure I'll regret immensely. In fact, I think I've already done that to be honest.

Last Saturday we may have gotten into an argument and the bathtub may have gotten filled with frogs the day after, right before Petunia was to take her bath. In my defense, those frogs could have gotten there by themselves. I had nothing to do with it. Anyway Petunia went yelling to mum because she had some big date with Moby Dick and I made her late. So mum gave me the whole 'now Lily you can't go around filling up people's bathtubs with frogs when they annoy you' spiel and Petunia's been insufferable since. In the Wizarding world I'm a mudblood and in the muggle world I'm a freak. Just can't win around here can I? It seems as though everyone everywhere wants to kill me or at the very least hates me. Mum doesn't want me to use magic anymore around the house- at least not when Petunia is around. Apparently my sister is too bloody sensitive for me to be summoning things across the room. Too sensitive my arse. She has no problem calling me a freak and bad talking me to that boyfriend of hers. It's quite all right for _her_ to do that but the minute I draw my wand she's screaming and hollering. We got into a fight yesterday-again. Things that have been brewing since I stepped off that train at King's Cross finally reached their tipping point and... and it was awful. She said the most hurtful things to me and yeah fine I'm not a saint but at least I didn't say that I hated my sister and didn't want her at my wedding.

Pet had to go for a fitting for her wedding dress and Mum dragged me along with them. I didn't really want to go, I still had my essay to finish up after all but mum insisted. Obviously I already knew that she didn't want me there and she kept on making these stupid comments that just kept getting under my skin. I tried my best to control my temper, but, well you should know better than anyone that that doesn't really work out. I almost made it. It wasn't until mum asked me to try on a dress that things started to unravel. It was a pretty dress, but I don't have anywhere to wear it to. I still tried it though, for Mum's sake. Tuney saw me in it and started yelling at me and calling me a freak and I was stopping myself from retaliating for the entire day so my patience was shot to hell. I ended up pulling my wand on her and it was a full on row in the dressing room at the back of the shop. I didn't hex her, but god I wished I did. She told me that she was glad the wedding was in November because it meant that I wasn't going to be there since she didn't want her new family to know that she had a common slag for a sister. Such kind words, really.

Apparently she snooped through my letters and thought that Christopher was a real person, the Giant Squid was code for something and, well, I was writing you so there's that. I may have snapped and told her that _I'm_ glad the wedding is in November because I don't have to watch her get married to a whale. She then turned back and said that it was good because she didn't want me at her wedding in the first place and then walked out.

Dressing rooms aren't exactly a good place to cry your eyes out.

So there you have it.

My own sister- my only sister; my only blood relative besides mum and dad- hates me. Maybe she's right; I don't belong in the muggle world. I already don't belong in the Wizarding world, being a mudblood and all. You're lucky you're an only child, you know that? Sirius might be a right prat at times but he would never say things like that to you. Good going Evans. Bloody hell my sister's an arse. She's the world's greatest prat.

Eugh. This letter's just turned into a giant mess of emotions. I'm sorry about that.

I can imagine that you might be right about that whole being bald by the time September rolls around thing. Sirius told me that you're tearing your hair out over your mum and I. Speaking of your mum, I think you should let her do whatever she wants. She's a strong woman. She'll do whatever she wants even if you told her not to. That's just how things work. And before you work yourself up into a tizzy, no, Sirius has not been pestering me. He only wrote me once and that was to tell me that you were freaking out. He threatened to silencio you if I didn't write back.

I miss you too,  
L. Evans.

P.S: I can get any information- classified Marauder things or otherwise- from you if I tried hard enough. I'll let you figure out what I meant by that.

* * *

Black,

I've written to Potter, keep your knickers on. I also told him that you sent some of his letters. Any hexes and/ or jinxes you receive from him are probably because of this.

Cleverer, prettier and a lot more charming than you,  
Lily.

* * *

Dear Evans,

I have hexed Sirius. Now anytime someone says the word dog he barks for several minutes. My mother is not amused and has spent at least an hour trying to reverse it. Unfortunately for her, I made it so that he will be in this condition for twelve hours.

Listen up Evans, and listen good. You are not a freak or a- _that_. You are Lily Evans; a wonderful, talented (not to mention completely gorgeous) witch. You're bloody brilliant and any whale whose name is Vernon (Merlin his parents must hate him) has no place to criticise you- neither does anyone who can love someone with such a horrid name. Nobody hates you. That is, nobody who should matter to you hates you. Mary and Jillian don't hate you. Your parents don't hate you. Remus and Peter and Sirius don't hate you. I certainly don't hate you.

People who hate you are those bigoted twats who're jealous that you're smarter than them or have prettier legs than them. And I'm sure your sister doesn't hate you. I mean, you're sisters. You'll go through terrible fights but you'll make up with each other in the end. Besides, I thought the title of world's greatest prat belongs to me? I have a commemorative plaque and everything! Remember that? Back in fifth year? I had it nailed onto the wall of the dormitory for the rest of the term. Now it's just hanging amongst all the posters in my room. The first gift that the illustrious Lily Evans ever gave to me. I will make sure to cherish it forever.

You can't have two world's greatest prats, my love; there can only be one and I'm afraid that's me. I'm not too keen on sharing it with anyone, least of all your sister who I'm sure isn't a prat the slightest. Sure, she threw some really, really terrible things at you but she didn't mean it. Especially not that last bit about being a slag. Both you and I know that Christopher isn't real so he doesn't count. You and the squid have had your dalliances (plus I know how much those tentacles of his attract you birds, no need to remind me) so I suppose that he does count. What is it with Evans women and their strange attraction to aquatic animals? First your sister and the whale and now you and the squid. As for me, well, everyone knows that you don't like me at all so I don't count either. Look at that; there's only one. That doesn't sound like a slag at all does it?

You're fucking perfect, Evans and don't forget it. I reckon the only thing someone can insult you about is your terrible handwriting. And yes, I know, mine is still worse than yours. I get it. You've told me at least a hundred times all ready.

Don't ever call yourself that dirty word ever again, you hear me Evans? I don't care who says you are, you most certainly are not. Bloody hell, you've got more talent and magic and power in your fucking little finger than half of those stupid Slytherins have all together. Merlin knows you've knocked Sirius and me on our arses already because of how brilliant you are. How many times have you landed someone in the hospital wing because of a wing, hmm? Much more than the times you've been put in there yourself, I'm sure. Your blood status is no indication of your magical prowess. If you start believing in that then that means that Voldemort has won and I refuse to let that happen to anyone, especially to you.

There's no need for you to apologise, Lily. I'm glad you got it off your chest. It's no good bottling it up inside. I am sorry that you were crying though. If you ever need to rant or yell or even hex somebody, I'm here for you (although I would rather you refrain from hexing me.)

Now that that's all cleared up, let's move on to the most important thing: frogs in the bathtub. Really Evans? That's so... elementary, don't you think? Not to mention obvious. Come on, poppet. I know you could do better than that. It seems as though it's time for an impromptu lesson in mischief making and debauchery doing. You never go for obvious. I'm ashamed that in all the years that you've know the Marauders you never understood the subtlety to our plans. It would have been much easier to slightly shrink all her clothes so that the only thing that fits is an ugly jumper that was knitted by some great aunt or the other. Everyone has that jumper. Mine was made by my great aunt Agnes and it's bright green and orange. See? Completely undetectable. No one would ever have to know that you did that.

And I was almost tearing my hair out. I was worried about you and I missed you. There's no one here to reassure me of my ultimate pratishness. You're right about my mum I guess. I just don't want her to get in any sorts of trouble. She's my mum. I don't know what I'd do if anything were to happen to her. I can't lose her as well.

It's a good thing that Sirius hasn't been pestering you. If he was then I would put him in a body bind and switch his hands for his feet. I'm not sure if you know this, but my best mate is a complete tosser at times.

In case you've forgotten in the time between the last three paragraphs, MacDonald thinks you're wonderful, O'Connor thinks you're magnificent, Remus thinks you're brilliant, Peter thinks you're amazing, Sirius thinks you're gorgeous and I think that in addition to all those things, you're fucking spectacular and certainly not a slag.

Of course you'll miss me Evans; I'm completely magnificent and funny. You miss my stellar wit (which is a hundred times better in person than on paper as you know) and my handsome face (which is also much better in person than on paper.) Who knows, maybe we might need to accidentally run into each other just so you can get a refresher as to why I'm so fabulous.

Hoping you embrace how lovely you are and ignore the shite that your sister told you,  
J. Potter.

P.S: Why Miss Evans? What exactly do you mean by that? Do you intend on charming my knickers off? Because if you are then I have to admit, I'll look forward to that.

* * *

Dear Potter,

I-

I honestly have nothing to say to this. You're just- wow

Thank you James. That helped a lot. Who would have known, huh? James Potter cheered up Lily Evans without her having hexed him. That's something you don't hear every day, now is it? And I don't not like you. Quite the opposite really. I do like you- when you're not being a prat anyway. Which is only a small amount of the time since you are in fact the world's ultimate prat. I guess I can concede that when you're not acting like a speccy twat faced git you can be a bit charming. Just a bit though. I've already inflated your head too much with this little letter.

Shutting up now lest you can't ever fit through a door again,  
Lily.

P.S: Maybe.

* * *

Dear Evans,

Anytime, Evans. Anytime. And you can never inflate my head. You've already made too many holes in my ego for it to balloon out of control.

It'll never happen,  
James.

P.S: Come on Evans! Now you've got me really interested. Is it something dirty?

* * *

Potter,

Please, nothing can damage that ego of yours.

Lily.

P.S: Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. Dream on, Potter. Dream on.

* * *

Evans,

All right, so maybe that's true to an extent but I quite like your ego stroking.

James.

P.S: Oh, love, you're always in my dreams.

* * *

James,

Of course you like it when I stroke your ego; it's a treat you hardly ever get.

Lily.

P.S: I'm not sure if I should be flattered or faintly disgusted.

* * *

Lily,

See, I can make a joke here about that ego stroking bit, but I'm sure it'll get me killed or something so I'll just stay quiet and agree with you.

James.

P.S: Flattered. Get your mind out of the gutter, Evans.

* * *

Potter,

I've changed my mind. You don't deserve my ego stroking anymore. What you do deserve is a slap, or a good hex to get rid of all that hair you cherish so much.

Lily.

P.S: This is another pot calling the kettle black scenario. Get _your_ mind out of the gutter.

* * *

Lily,

Don't deny it; you would have laughed had I told you the joke.

James.

P.S: Is that hypocrisy I hear? No wait, it's just the sound of Lily Evans. Both of us are in the gutter together, agreed? We're both two terribly dirty individuals.

* * *

James,

I will acknowledge that my lips twitched just a bit when I finally understood what you meant.

Lily.

P.S: Fine; you one this round. I'll agree with you.

* * *

_**Until next week, lovelies.**_

Tish and Nai,  
xoxo


	4. Week 4

**_It's still Friday in some parts of the world. Sorry about the late update; I wasn't home for the entire day. Thank you to all reviewers. I wish that one day all of you find your own James Potter to love._**

* * *

**Chapter 4- Week 4  
or  
I Write Debates About Owl Ownership, Not Love Letters**

Dear Evans,

I hope you took my advice and got back at your wretch of a sister. Such a ray of bloody sunshine that one is. The same ray of sunshine that's bound to give you terrible sunburn. Horrible, horrible sunburn on your arse so that life is made extremely uncomfortable for you.

I'm sorry; that was mean. I'm sure your sister is a perfectly wonderful and respectable young woman like all Evans women are.

Remus and Peter are coming to stay here next week. As you know, Sirius practically lives here and continues to eat me out of house and home on a daily basis while stealing my mum. Luckily for me, the favouritism does not extend to include excluding the wanker from doing chores. Mum has us scrubbing the entire house from top to bottom like bloody house elves. It took us six hours alone to clean the conservatory yesterday. And that's with magic.

Ouch.

Mum caught me writing this letter and tapped me over the head with her copy of the Prophet. Apparently it's impolite to refer to 'such a charming young lady' (aka you) by her surname. And then after she skimmed through the rest of it she said to tell you that Sirius isn't the one who eats all the food; it's me, her 'lazy good for nothing son.' Honestly, how about you and Sirius live here and I come over and live in your house? Petunia and I will be the best of mates what with her insane desire to be as muggle as possible and me, the quirky pureblood who didn't know what a motorcycle was until a few weeks ago.

Never write letters to fantastic redheads with killer legs in the dining room when there's a chance of your mum reading over your shoulder. As a matter of fact, never do anything pertaining to Lily Evans when there's a chance of your mum walking in on you. If you do, and she finds out, she will shoot you these stupid looks and drop not so subtle hints about 'that lovely young lady; Merlin knows why she would associate with the likes of you James Potter. Perhaps you don't look like a ragamuffin at Hogwarts.' Again, my mother likes you more than she likes me- and she only met you once. Remind me to never bring you home with me. The two of you will conspire to ruin my life. She'll show you more baby pictures. If you possess any sort of compassion or affection you'll avoid this at all cost. Please Evans. I'll beg you again. Unlike now where I'm a complete sex god with my looks, I was a rather ugly baby. I know what you're thinking- James Potter displaying humility? What is this world coming too?

As sad as it is, it's true. We'll just keep this our little secret. Well, it'll be one of our little secrets. It thrills me that we have more than one. It almost feels as though we're friends or something. Wow.

Before I forget, you must be wondering where Wrock is today. This is Artemis. She's yours now. Sirius and I both agree that it's a cardinal sin for you to have acquired seventeen years as a reputable witch without an owl of your own which is why we may have snuck out on Sirius' magically enhanced motorbike last night and bought you an owl. May have. I'll neither confirm nor deny that.

Now you have an owl of your own to send illegible letters to your friends and actually write me when you say you will. Use it to send me letters that keep up at night trying to figure out what you mean by it. Oh wait never mind; you do that already.

Hoping you take this as a not so subtle hint to write to me more often,  
J. Potter

* * *

Dear Potter,

I have not driven my sweet sister into insanity (yet) with your devious and thought out plan (I say this grudgingly- as grudgingly as you can imagine.) Reason being that she has all but moved in with the Whale. In fact, if I didn't run into her every morning when I stumble down the stairs (that's around the same time she's leaving the house to engage in sneaky snogging and other nefarious activities) I would have thought that they eloped or something. Eugh. I shudder to think of what they got up to without me around. Tuney is always over by his house or out with him. Last night I actually saw my sister for more than two minutes and he was over for dinner. I accidentally walked in on them snogging and I don't think I'll ever be okay ever again. I need to bleach my brain. If you like me at all you'll _Obliviate_ that terrible sight next time you see me. I would beg but I would probably never reduce myself to begging the likes of you (was that mean? I can't find it in myself to care right now; I'm still vaguely nauseous.) The image was horrifying. I was never a fan of moustaches to begin with and now I don't think I could look at one without seeing _that_. Wouldn't it be terribly uncomfortable, snogging someone with a moustache? I think it would be.

As luck would have it, Mary and Jill are visiting me next week as well. I convinced mum that the only reason I was plotting on giving Tuney a coronary before her time was because I was missing my friends so she told me that I could invite them over for a few days. They're not staying for the entire week- just for the weekend I think- but they'll be at my house during the day. And the best part is, since Mary is a muggleborn like me and Jillian is halfblood, they'll be 'normal' in Petunia's book. Well, not really, but I won't have to worry about having to explain how the television works so they probably won't annoy her quite as much. If I wanted to really piss her off I would have invited you and Sirius; the so called 'quirky purebloods.' Nothing would rile her up more than that.

If I was being honest (and I am) then I have to admit that my mum already knows about you and Sirius since my sister went to her practically screaming that I was a harlot. She continuously wants to hear more about these 'charming boys who aren't Remus.'

Note to self: must remind Mary and Jillian to not bring up Potter or Black within a ten foot mile of my mother because then she will start firing off rapid questions and I would end up really looking like a harlot.

I've also been cleaning, although I suppose I have an easier job than you. Conservatory? Who even has a conservatory these days? How big is your house, Potter? It took me and mum (with occasional help from the sister) six hours to clean the entire house without magic (okay, so I might have used a bit of magic in the living room when she wasn't looking but that's about it.) And that's including the washing room. I think I found another Acromantula colony behind the washer. Although I suppose part of the reason you and Sirius took so long was because it was you and Sirius. The two of you probably spent half the time creating soap suds monsters to battle against the other.

Tell your mum I said hi and that I'd love to come around for tea next Sunday if she'll have me. Ugly baby you say? I don't think that's quite possible. And before you get a giant smarmy smirk on your face like I know you're doing now, I'm going to clear it up one time: ugly babies aren't possible because literally all babies are cute. Even the James Potter ones. That's just how the world works. Then eventually they grow into... _that_ (that being yourself- which is a far cry from sex god I'll have you know.) Your mum is right; you a lazy good for nothing ragamuffin. Goodness knows why I even talk to you. Maybe it's because of you charm (ha. Doubtful. What charm?) Or maybe it's because I like to lord my supreme intelligence over you (more likely than your previous theory.) Or maybe it's because I like talking to you (nah.) I'll do anything to get my hands on my pictures of 'ickle baby Jamesie.' Tell me Potter, is your arse still pale? Also, 'never do anything pertaining to myself when your mum can walk in?' Really? You just had to word it in the dirtiest way possible didn't you? You are incorrigible, Potter.

I was wondering where Wrock was; your owl has taken a liking to me. I can understand why of course. Compared to you and Sirius I'm a million times better that you two. However, as lovely as this is, I simply cannot accept it. Merlin James, this is all too much. Artemis is gorgeous but I can't keep her. I have survived my seventeen years without an owl and I'm sure I can survive a wee bit longer without one. I'll buy myself an owl when I get out of Hogwarts and get a job. I just can't take yours.

I thought we moved past the handwriting jabs (yours is shite, mine is shite- end of story.) Sometimes I think you just want me to bring it up again. And of course I'll keep you up at night. Just make sure your mum doesn't walk in on you this time.

Seriously James, keep the owl. I cannot keep her without guilt gnawing at my insides. Besides, I don't care how much you insult my handwriting; you'd miss me if I stopped writing.

Hoping you take this as a not so subtle hint to write to _me_ more often,  
L. Evans

* * *

Dear Evans,

I can't lie there; I _will_ miss you if you stop writing. All I'll have then is Sirius and mum, and Sirius is a right tosser as you know.

When you do exact revenge on your bloody sister I want to hear all about it. I expect a full report on everything, down to her reactions. In fact, send me pictures. Such a shame that muggle pictures don't move. Then I will have nothing but my imagination to construct the exact face she would make.

I can only imagine what a sight that would have been. I almost feel sorry for you. On the bright side, at least you didn't have to see any of those other activities. Imagine if you had walked in on them shagging. You might have gone blind. Don't worry though, love, I would never make you beg for something like that. If this bloke is really how you described him then it would be a disservice to humanity if I left you to suffer with that image branded in your brain for the rest of your life.

Snogging with a moustache does sound uncomfortable. I've never done that before either. What say you and I do an experiment to find out, hmm?

O'Connor is visiting you? Tell her not to break any windows. She came over by me once (last year I think once she heard that I was made quidditch captain) and accidentally hit a bludger straight through the kitchen window while we were having a mock game. Needless to say, mum was not pleased. Guess who got in trouble for it. I'll give you a hint: he's charming and handsome and has fantastic hair. Not to mention that you like talking to him.

As for my arse, well, why don't you find out that for yourself. I'll be me than happy to oblige If you agree to return the favour.

You're going to slap me for that next time you see me, aren't you? I need to learn to keep my bloody mouth shut. I don't fancy tentacles growing out of every orifice in my body, nor do I like getting covered in unvanishable green goo.

Lily Evans, you filthy hypocrite you. And I'm not talking about the handwriting thing this time (although I'm glad to see that you've finally accepted that your penmanship is utter crap.) You accuse me of turning everything into an innuendo and then a few words later you do the same. I'm almost proud of you. It looks like Sirius and I are rubbing off on you. About bloody time. Remus is probably going to positively murder us by the time we're done corrupting you. Pranking your sister, coming up with fantastic dirty jokes; there's a little Marauder somewhere inside of you.

My owl does not like you more than he likes me how dare you suggest such a thing. He only sticks around because I tell him to so that you have ample time to reply to my pathetic attempts at pulling myself out of loneliness. As for Artemis, I thought you might say that. Listen Evans, it's a gift. That's something friends do for each other. They give them gifts and expect nothing in return. So keep her. If you feel guilty about it then think of it as a late thank you gift for helping me with that damn potions homework a few weeks ago.

Do I look like I need another excuse to write to you,  
J. Potter

* * *

Potter,

I'm going to kill you.

I'm going to tear out your arms and legs and make them into a crown.

I'm going to rip out your intestines and feed them to the giant squid.

I'll give Christopher a very sharp knife to chase after you with it.

If you thought what I did to the Slytherins in the last week of classes was terrible then this would be ten times worse. I hope you like have orange feathers sprouting all over your body and perpetually smelling like cabbages. Rotten cabbages.

Why the bloody fucking hell would you mention my sister shagging that... that mammoth?! Do you think I need that mental image in my head? Artemis brought me the letter this morning while I was eating breakfast and as soon as I saw that I couldn't go on. I almost threw up. I had to push away my plate of waffles and walk away while thinking of the ingredients needed to make a Memory Solution. And if that wasn't enough, Tuney and the Whale just had to walk in at that exact moment. Last time I ran that fast was when I came across that Bogart in second year. I hope you're happy. I haven't read the rest of the letter but I assume it's something along the lines of convincing me to keep the owl along with a littering of suggestive remarks. I said it before and I'll say it again: I can't take the owl. Keep her.

I'm going to rip your tongue out and feed it to your owl,  
L. Evans.

* * *

Lily,

Whoa there Evans, calm down. It was just a joke. Relax. Breathe. I didn't mean to scare you or anything. If it makes you feel better, those threats have successfully scared the living daylights out of me. I won't be messing with you for a while. I have seen what Lily Evans' mind can construct when she is thoroughly brassed off with someone. I do not need for it to happen to myself.

I quite like having my arms and legs attached to my body, my innards safely tucked away inside my, cabbages make me feel ill and my tongue serves a better purpose inside my mouth than anywhere else (of course if you want to talk about temporary relocation to your mouth then I'm sure we can work something out.)

(This whole 'holding my tongue' thing- pun intended- is not working out; maybe you should just keep a tally of how many times I act like an idiot and even it out when we next see each other.)

Also, let Artemis stay the night; poor thing looks dead on her... talons.

Please don't hurt me too much,  
J. Potter.

* * *

Potter,

If I kept track of every time you act like an idiot then I would use up all the parchment in the world.

Having read out the rest of your previous letter I have decided to make it perfectly clear to you that your mouth is never going to come into contact with my mouth. I don't care that you say that it's for science or something. Besides, I would never be caught dead snogging someone with a moustache. Not after that display I was forced to watch.

Jillian has been over to my house plenty of times (okay maybe three times at the very most) and she's never broken anything except for a plate and a couple of glasses. The girl is so clumsy. Mary and I marvel at how graceful she seems on a broom when she has such butterfingers in real life. Terribly sorry that Sirius got blamed for that unfortunate incident. What a shame.

I want nothing to do with what I'm sure is your pale and ugly arse. If you continue making such suggestive statements then you're right. I probably will slap you. Right now, between you and my sister, my patience has been all but shot to hell. She saw the handle of my wand poking out of my pocket and through a huge fit about how I was trying to curse her behind her back. And since she told lovely Vernon (aka Whale Mcwhaleson) about my magical-ness, he was right there along with her. I swear to god all I need to do is breathe and she gets ticked off.

Of course I know how to make dirty jokes. Have you forgotten that one of my best friends happen to be Jillian O'Connor? I'm not a complete prude I'll have you know. Just because I'm not in detention every week for something or the other doesn't mean that I've never created my fair share of mischief. I'm simply better at it since I hardly ever get caught. I'll let you in on a little secret, remember back before Easter break when all the eggs at breakfast used to explode to reveal a sweet? I did that. Well, I along with Jillian and Mary. We had loads of help from the house elves. No one else knows this, so it goes without saying that if you tell anyone I'll kill you. Now we're even; you know a rather incriminating secret about me and I know a secret about you.

Glad to know that you've finally realised that you're pathetic. The first step is admitting you have a problem after all. The second step is resolving the problem and that is done without buying someone an owl. You may have conned me into keeping her overnight (the poor dear did look near ready to drop down; how can I refuse when she looks at me with doleful grey eyes?) but I refuse to keep her indefinitely.

I will hurt you however much I feel like and you cannot stop me,  
L. Evans

* * *

Evans,

I almost feel sorry for you having to deal with that every time you come home. My sympathy would have been extended if I wasn't so afraid of violent redheads popping out of nowhere and attacking me. Sirius thinks my newfound jumpiness is hilarious. He has already snuck up on me twice. I hope you're happy. He made me spill my pumpkin juice all over the table cloth one time. Mum was not pleased. I had to scrub it by hand.

You have no idea how much it pleases me to hear that. I knew there was a troublemaking streak in you yet. Also, you're so bloody funny, Evans, stop it; I'm dying from laughter. Please, we all know that you knew I was referring to myself. As if mum would give Sirius a good talking to. He's the prodigal son. I am the loser that stays home and does nothing, or so she says. Ah mum. I love her so much.

The owl is yours to keep. I can be just as stubborn as you when I'm ready. Not to mention that I always get what I want.

If you're going to hurt me then watch the face,  
J. Potter

* * *

Potter,

Ha. I cannot keep the owl if I'm to write you back. And since common courtesy dictates that I must write you back, I have to use the owl. Ha ha ha.

I'll hurt you anywhere I damn please,  
L. Evans

P.S: I am brilliant. You may fawn before my utter brilliance. Go ahead. Fawn over me.

* * *

Evans,

Oh, what's that outside your window? Two owls? Ha.

As you may have noticed, Artemis is carrying a letter and Wrock is carrying a package. Two owls and since only one has a letter you are only required to reply to one. Ergo, you only need to use one owl- preferably the one that belongs to me since common courtesy dictates that you should always return what's not yours. Common courtesy also dictates that you should accept gifts without complaints but that's neither here nor there. Ha ha ha.

Don't hurt me too much,  
J. Potter.

P.S: I am brilliant. You may fawn over my utter brilliance. (Don't worry, I'll fawn over you anyway. )

P.P.S: I'm sure you realised that the package is an owl cage for Artemis. Look closely though; there's another package. It's the box of chocolate I owed you from since when. Thought you could use a bit of cheering up.

P.P.P.S: Don't let your sister get you down.

* * *

James,

Damn you Potter. You win this round.

Sincerely,  
a very much put out L. Evans who will hurt you however much she pleases and I thought we went over this already.

P.S: Thank you for the chocolates though. They are wonderful.

* * *

_**Apologies if there are a lot of errors since the bulk of this was written on a phone and I find it very hard to edit my own work.**_

_**See you in the next 7 days (hopefully not this late during the day),**_

_**Nai and Tish**_

_**xoxo**_


	5. Week 5

**_We're an hour late on this one. Whoops. Sorry. As usual, thanks to all the reviewers. I hope you get a box of chocolate from James Potter too._**

* * *

**Chapter 5- Week 5  
or  
I Write Invitations to Diagon Alley, Not Love Letters**

Dear James,

See? I've written to you first for a change. Hooray. Now I can cross that off my bucket list. (Not that I actually have 'write to James Potter first,' on my bucket list, but I digress.) Artemis is behaving wonderfully. She hardly makes noise and, besides that one time, she never really brings any dead things into the house. My mum came up to my room a few days ago and spotted her. She wanted to know if it belonged to one of my friends who were coming to stay this week. You have no idea how hard it was to explain to her that no, the owl wasn't Jillian's, but in fact mine that I got from a friend a few days ago. She wanted to know more about this friend and... well...

You should know that I used to complain about you a lot to her. In my letters, when I come home for vacation. You were a prat back then. I had good reason to complain.

I don't know what conclusion she came to because all I said was that it was from you (I believe my exact words were, 'Oh, um, James Potter... you've never met him before,') and all she did was smile and say, 'Is that so,' before getting up and leaving.

My mother is so strange.

She also caught a glance of the box of chocolates you've sent me. I've been hiding them from the rest of my family because, first of all, someone was bound to eat it all out before I could even taste it and, second of all, it's from the Wizarding world. If Tuney gets her hands on them she'll probably shriek because it's freak chocolates and then throw them out. If she throws them out I'll probably curse her so bad she'll resemble a human rat… and now that I have Artemis in the house, that might pose a problem for her.

Oh my god. I've been spending way too much time with you and Sirius. You've began to rub off on me. I can almost feel the diabolical plans seeping out of the darkest corners of my brain. I have a strong urge to deface property or break into a classroom.

(No I don't; just wanted to get your hopes up for a moment.)

(All right, I have the teensy tiniest urge to break into the Ravenclaw dorm when we get back and do something wicked to Jessica Rothbridge because she called me a cow for no reason on our last day. I am most upset and expect you to help carry out with my heinous plan.)

(Merlin help me, you and Sirius have actually rubbed off on me. This cannot end well.)

She's also seen Artemis. The same time Artemis deemed it fit to bring a half dead rat into the house. I don't think I'll ever be able to hear properly again in my right ear what with all her screeching and squawking and shrieking (most of which actually came from Tuney, not the owl surprisingly enough.) Does the Wizarding world have the equivalent of hearing aids? Because I think I'm going to need one soon. Or right now. The universe is out to get me, Potter (if the Death Eaters don't find me first, that is.)

Thankfully, Mary and Jillian are going to be here tomorrow. I'm so excited. Finally, normal people who don't want me to snap my neck by slipping in the shower (in third year we- the girls and I- discussed this and agreed that it was the worst way to die; whoever finds you is going to find you naked. Let's hope the chances of shower slippage induced deaths are low, yeah?) I spent the entire day cleaning and going shopping with Mum. I think she's more excited for my friends' visit than I am. She loves talking to Mrs. and Mr. Macdonald because they're muggles too (I'm 95% sure that they bonded over the fact that their daughters are strange and unusual) and she practically adores Jillian because she knows more about the Wizarding world than Mary and I combined.

Their visit should also help me piss off Petunia; it's become an annual game that, whenever they visit, we try to do things that annoy her the most. Almost always Jillian is the one who wins these little competitions. She figured out in the summer before fourth year that if she brought up Wizarding topics in the company of my mum, Petunia can't yell at us. It's brilliant, and she always has a lot of topics to keep Mum occupied for hours after dinner. Then there's the added fact that it's rather illuminating for me too. There's only so much a little muggleborn like me could learn from _Hogwarts: A History_.

Sadly, our game is going to be cut short a bit this year: like I told you before, Tuney's all but moved in with the whale so she's not going to be home that often. What a pity.

I've all but given up on trying to get her to accept me anymore. She's dead stuck in her way of hating everything magic and I think her face is stuck in a permanent sneer when looking at me (although it could just be that she stays around her elephant of a boyfriend too much so her face is starting to mimic his). It's... well it's sad to be honest. She's my only sister. I truly love her and I hate that we're so distant. My family isn't really big and soon enough it's just going to be me and her alone. But I guess I'll just deal with it.

By gorging myself on copious amounts of chocolate (bless your soul, James, really).

Are you trying to get me fat Potter? Because it's working.

Gah, mum is calling me again. She wants to know which type of cake my friends will like more; chocolate or sponge. The answer is obvious- sponge cake wins hands down all the time, there's no question about it.

Stop trying to get me fat,  
L. Evans.

* * *

Dear Lily,

I knew you'd come around eventually, love. You have no idea how happy that makes me by the way. You've made my life by writing to me first, Lily Evans. I knew buying Artemis was a good call. It's good to hear she's behaving herself. Sirius and I just slipped in and out when we bought her. Glad to know that she's got Lily Evans' approvals. I know how hard it is to get that (from personal experience, of course). Wrock always brings dead things into the house. Rats, lizards, other birds. Almost anything that's smaller than him and has the ability to move, he'll bring it and rest it on top my desk. I don't think he quite gets that I'm not a giant owl, myself.

'Were a prat'? Am I to take that to mean that I'm no longer a prat since it's in past tense? It seems that Lily Evans is finally beginning to appreciate my charm. It's about time, poppet. Now we can finally get down to all that knicker charming we discussed a few weeks ago.

My mum knows about you as well, although she _has_ met you. Even before she met you she knew about you (thank you Sirius, Remus and Peter) and- as I've said numerous times- positively dotes on you. Let's switch mothers. You can have mine since she adores you any way, and I'll take yours and make her adore me (after stitching back up the irrefutable damage you've done to my character I'm sure.) And I think I know the exact look you're talking about. Whenever Sirius brings you up around mum, she does the same thing- she has this little smile and when I ask her about it it's always 'Oh nothing James, dear; nothing at all.'

All mothers are strange.

I'm glad that Sirius and I have been rubbing off on you- that's always great. Well, as you've told me numerous times before when I _was_ a prat, hexing people is not great. No matter how terrible they are. Maybe I should send a box of chocolates to Petunia as well. A large set of Honeydukes' best; oh maybe a chocolate frog basket.

I've got it.

I'll send her one of those large sampler baskets that they have in the showcases. They've got everything from Pepper Imps to Ice Mice to Sugar Quills and even Every Flavour Beans. I'm sure your sister will love it. Especially the Every Flavour Beans. I don't know why but I just have a gut instinct that seeing all those different flavours (like dirt and grass and liver) is something she'd be interested in.

Or at least the whale of a boyfriend.

(See, if I was there playing that game with you all I would so win by giving her the Wizarding sweets. Hint: it's probably best to hide them in muggle sweet-boxes. Surprise is a key element in any great prank.)

I love that fucking owl. I knew she was a good choice. (Sirius said to get you one like Wrock but I chose her because she was the only owl in the entire shop that wasn't receptive to me at first. Just like someone I can mention...) I have no idea what a 'hearing aid' is but, given the circumstances, I think it has something to do with remedying people who can't hear well and there's a spell for that. Don't you just love magic? It's so handy at times.

The other lads are already here (well, they don't exactly leave my place too often. Peter just whipped my arse at chess. Sirius is sleeping and Remus is reading something or the other. That's actually strange for Remus though; I've yet to see him pick up a book since we went on holiday. I thought something might have been wrong.

I have to agree with you on that one though; it would be bloody embarrassing. Let's hope when I die I have clothes on. I think I'm going to start taking baths now instead of showers. Those will lessen my chances of breaking my neck. However, it will probably increase my chances of drowning which will also leave me dead and naked… but then again, I could just use a Bubble-Head Charm. Again, you've got to love magic. But maybe I should start showering with my pants on, just in case.

What do you think would be more embarrassing; dying naked or having to fight Death Eaters naked?

It's all right Lily. I don't have any siblings of my own (and after seeing you and Sirius with yours I'm glad my parents decided to be satisfied with me alone, honestly. I guess I was just to perfect for them to continue.) I'm probably complete shite at this, but if you ever need to talk or unload you can just write me a letter. And if you ever want someone to sympathise with you on lack of sibling closeness, you can always talk to Sirius. I know the two of you talk about these sorts of things in school so you can just write him next time. You even have an owl and everything! Plus he lives with me; it shouldn't be too hard to find him.

Glad to know that you've enjoyed the chocolate. I might have to send you another box soon from the way how things sound.

Tell your mum that your mate James agrees with you; sponge cake is the best and there's nothing you can do to change my mind. I haven't had any in ages. Since we left Hogwarts to be exact. Mum doesn't make those things and the House Elves here can't seem to get it as fluffy as the one in Hogwarts do.

Not getting you fat,  
J. Potter.

* * *

Dear James,

With the levels of wit you possess, it would be quite easy to mix you up with an animal… although an owl wouldn't be my first choice. A baboon, perhaps?

Don't let your head get inflated… you're still a prat, but your prattishiness, I admit, has significantly diminished. Maybe another box of chocolates could help it decrease some more. Just a suggestion. (I'm not even going to touch the knickers thing.)

If I had to fight Death Eaters naked, they'd never live to tell the tale. And if, by some miracle, they _did_ live, they definitely wouldn't be in any mental shape to remember even an inch of _all this_.

If you do that I'll never talk to you ever again. I'll stop writing you and refuse to acknowledge your presence ever again. Do not send my sister any forms of Wizarding sweets ever. If you do, then I won't be on the lookout for Death Eaters anymore; oh no. I'll have to be on the lookout for psychopathic sisters who'd want my head on a stake.

Oh god.

I can just imagine the look on her face. It would be amazing. I can't believe you managed to think up something like that.

Okay all of those things are a lie. If you do that I'd probably fall in love with you or something. You'd be my hero and Tuney might never talk to me again but I won't be able to find it in myself to care because the face she would make when she sees all of those things oh my Merlin.

(This is a joke please do not send the thing; she might kill me in my sleep. She'll tell Vernon to sit on me. Or maybe she might make the shower extra slippery and I'll fall and die and humiliate myself post death. I don't know about you but I like breathing.)

I'll keep that in mind. Honestly, just writing to you makes me feel better, James. You don't even have to say anything. I really appreciate your willingness to listen. And I'll be sure to write Sirius, should I ever need to. He's such a fantastic friend and you're lucky to have him- all of your friends are, really.

You replied to my last letter faster than I anticipated. Writing you is the last thing I'm doing for today before heading to bed. I'm so knackered it's not even funny. But on the bright side my mates are going to be here tomorrow. I'm so excited! You have no idea how much I missed them. Even Jillian's snoring and Mary's obsessive habit of having all her quills clipped to the same length. We've been writing each other twice a week, of course, but it gets lonely not seeing them.

I did tell mum and she's decided to make sponge. I'm not allowed to touch until our guests arrive though because 'you'll eat the whole thing Lily, have some manners.' Honestly. Last time she made it I only had one slice. One small, thin slice. But it was delicious. Mum's sponge cake is way better than the one at Hogwarts. If she never used to slap my hand away whenever I go for a second piece surely I would be the size of the whale by now. When I am allowed to touch the cake, I'll try to sneak you a piece.

If you don't get me fat my mother and friends will,  
L. Evans.

P.S: You're a pretty fantastic friend as well. I'm glad you're not such a prat anymore.

* * *

Dear Lily,

Ah come on, Evans. A baboon, really? I'm far too attractive for that. You and I both know it. Besides, don't you think I'd make a fabulous stag? Tall, strong, majestic. I think those words fit me perfectly, don't you?

You've got a point. You pack one hell of a punch, Evans. And let's not get started on your hexing. I can't say this enough, you are a goddess. Any Death Eaters who cross your path are sure to be annihilated. (Please do not take this as a sign to go looking for any Death Eaters. I will get premature heart failure. I do not want you to die this early on and surely, I hope, that you think the same for me.)

I'll take a chance with the box of chocolates. I hope it actually helps to reduce my prat levels. I need your mum to start hearing good things about me. (This is a not so subtle hint towards making sure you talk about me with your mates. Topics include: my quidditch prowess, my transfiguration genius, my handsomeness and my hilarity.)

They don't call us the Marauders for nothing, love. Our plans are usually genius. I think you can more than handle your sister by the way. You almost got my hopes up for a moment there, Evans. Ah well. Maybe you should take me out to dinner first before offering to marry me, hmm? I'm not going to accept your hand in marriage out of the blue. (All right, maybe I would, but only for you.) (Because I've known you for six years.)

Luckily for you, I have decided against sending the basket of sweets because I don't want Vernon to sit on you. I like you alive and breathing too.

I do indeed have great friends. But I swear, one day they're going to put me in Spell Damage without having done any spells. Peter found out over dinner that I bought you an owl (thanks for that Sirius; the wanker '_accidentally'_ let it slip to him and my mum and Remus) and has been going on for over two hours how I've never bought him an owl even though we're best mates. Of course, he already has his own owl, but that doesn't seem to stop the old tosser from complaining.

Forget about what I said about taking me out to dinner first before requesting my hand in marriage. You send me that cake and I'm as good as yours.

By the time you get this letter it'll probably be the next day after you've woken up so in that case I hope my face filled your dreams.

Sending you more chocolates no matter what you say about it,  
J. Potter.

P.S: If it means talking to you more, I'm also happy about it.

P.P.S: It doesn't matter if you got fatter, you'd still look absolutely amazing to me.

* * *

Dear James,

More like you _think _you're too attractive for that. I know better. And a stag? No way James Potter. No bloody way in hell.

Also, if we're friends, then why would you hope that I had nightmares? (I slept like a baby and cannot remember what I dreamt at all- but it certainly was not your face.)

The girls arrived this morning so I'm happy about that. They came while I was having breakfast actually. We made quite a scene in the front yard when I ran up and hugged them while still in my pyjamas. Now the entire neighbourhood knows that I sleep in my dad's old t shirt. (I've just realised that they would not know that it is my dad's t shirt; all they'll know is that I sleep in some male's clothing. Oh god, I really am turning into the town harlot.)

After all the hullaballoo and cheer we went back inside where I was having my breakfast and chatted while I finished my waffles. While I was eating, Artemis delivered your last letter to me. They now know about her. Mary thinks she's absolutely gorgeous while Jillian merely rolled her eyes and started mumbling something under her breath. I don't know what she was saying but I heard your name drop a few times. Luckily they were too caught up in the owl than to prod and poke about our letters to each other. Don't tell them I said this, but I've written to you more than the two of them combined. We lazed about doing nothing for the entire day (I'm sorry I didn't write you earlier but even when we're doing nothing constructive it's fun.) Then, a few minutes before I started this letter, Jillian found the box of chocolates you sent me (they only had a few thank goodness) and between her and Mary, they ate it out.

I believe her exact words were, 'He sent you these because the two of you are mates, right? Well I've been his mate longer than you've been, Lil. Hell, I'm even on the quidditch team with him. I think I deserve some ruddy chocolate.'

I have enclosed a slice of cake that I managed to smuggle out of the kitchen. However, I'm going to tell you to take your own advice here, Potter; at least buy me dinner first.

My chocolate is done and I'm not telling you that you need to give me more, but it won't go amiss,  
L. Evans.

P.S: That is a complete lie, you smarmy git.

* * *

Lily,

I think we need to jog your memory. You haven't been able to gaze at my attractiveness in quite a while. And I am quite attractive dear. Tell O'Connor that she better have not said any bad things about me because I can easily kick her off the team for our first match and play Brookridge instead. I am the captain. I have the power.

(I'm going to take my own advice.)

Maybe we should meet up at Diagon Alley sometime soon? Your mates and my mates? Then not only would you be reminded of my gorgeous face, but I will have taken you to dinner (well, lunch) before asking your hand in marriage. (Let it be known that the only reason I'm becoming your betrothed is because I want to have more access to your mum's cake; it's fabulous.)

I'll see what I can do,  
J. Potter.

P.S: You might want to go outside at midnight tonight. Alone. While everyone else is sleeping.

* * *

James,

All right, I'll bite. I think that can be arranged. Does next Friday sound okay? We can meet up at the Leaky Cauldron for about eight. Then you can wine and dine me and perhaps I might agree to marry you. Perhaps. There's a chance of it not happening. (I have told my mum what you said about her cake; I don't think I've ever seen her look so satisfied in her entire life.)

Much thanks,  
L. Evans.

P.S: That sounds like something a murderer would say.

P.S.S: I'll be outside. (With my wand of course.)

* * *

Lily,

Sorry to send these so late at night. I just needed to make up for the pack that Jillian ate.

Thanks for humouring me by coming out alone so late at night,  
J. Potter

P.S: Friday is great. See you then.

P.S.S: Hide the chocolates somewhere. Like in your knicker drawer or something.

* * *

_**Until next Friday (hopefully we'll actually update on Friday and not one in the morning on Saturday)**_

_**:)**_

**_Tish and Nai_**

**_xoxo_**


	6. Week 6

_**Hugs and Kisses to all the reviewers, favouriters and alerters! You all make our day. Last chapter there seemed to have been some confusion as to what happened when Lily went outside at midnight. Nothing naughty happened (unfortunately), just James sending her another box of chocolates at a time when no one else would find out. I think it's mentioned in the last letter.**_

* * *

**Chapter 6- Week 6  
or  
I Write Informative Reports, Not Love Letters**

Dear Lily,

I hope our little rendezvous has reassured you of my incredible attractiveness. I've wined and dined you using fish and chips, ice cream, and Butterbeer. Am I suitable husband material now? Or do I have to take you somewhere fancier where the menu is in French and we can't understand (much less pronounce) one bit of it?

I had fun on Friday, really I did. It was nice seeing you barmy birds. Even though O'Connor kept on taking the piss out of me. Tell me the truth Evans; am I really a skinny beanpole with terrible hair and no muscles? Because Jillian kept on telling me that and I need to know that it's not true. My hair isn't terrible. She must be jealous that her hair isn't as nice as mine, that's it right? I threatened to take her off the team when we go back but she just laughed at me. Just between you and me, I don't think she took my threat seriously. She knows she's a damn good chaser, cocky git.

Is she still over by you? If she is, tell her that come September I'll have her running laps around the pitch. Twenty laps each day just for her cheek. That'll show her to make fun of me, don't you think?

Sirius hasn't been able to shut up to Mum about our trip. Both of them seemed particular pleased that we spent most of the trip walking together though I can't for the life of me fathom why. I think you're going to have to visit me home here just to appease mum. It's always 'Lily this,' and 'Lily that.' 'Have you written to Lily today, James? She's such a sweet girl. Of course, I don't know her all that well since _someone_- I'm looking at you, son- refuses to let me meet her properly. From what Sirius and Remus and Peter have told me she sounds lovely. She doesn't seem like a person to take your nonsense lying down.'

You've bewitched my mother, Evans- and you've only met her once.

I want my mum back. My mum who doesn't dote over Lily Evans.

Remus and they aren't any better off either. Every time an owl flies into the house there's a chorus of 'is it Lily, is it Lily?' Not to mention that they keep on harassing me, trying to figure out what happened when we disappeared for forty five minutes. I keep telling them that you pulled me into a bookstore but Sirius keeps rolling his eyes and saying 'It that what they're calling it these days?'

I think my mates have lost it.

(Not that they ever had a lot to begin with but I digress).

Thank you, by the way, for the cake. It was delicious. You can tell your mum (while you're reassuring her that I am no longer a prat) that her cooking is better than Hogwarts House Elves. Trust me, that's the highest praise I can give someone when it comes to food. Forget marrying you, I'll marry your mum if it means eating cake like that all the time. I'm easy to please. Feed me and I'm yours forever. I don't need anything else to be happy (all right, maybe some snogging wouldn't go amiss- food, snogging and quidditch and I'll be the happiest man alive).

Ah, Merlin and Agrippa they've found me. Several times before, I tried to write you a letter but each time one of those wankers caught me and took the parchment only to write something not so nice on it that you'd probably hex me for if you ever read it. I was hiding out in the back of my library. They've just come in. It's time to end this letter now.

Sorrow is such a sweet parting,  
James.

* * *

Dear James,

Were you trying to quote Shakespeare at the end there? Sorry mate but you completely messed up that. Speaking of which, what do you know about Shakespeare? How do you even know Shakespeare? He's a muggle playwright. There's nothing magical about him the slightest. (Well, there's plenty magical about him, but not really in the literal sense- he's just another mad old muggle).

I'm going to completely ignore the first part of your letter. (No, you're not proper husband material. I failed to have been impressed with chips drenched in vinegar and a hot bottle of Butterbeer. You might have gotten more points if your bought me a cold one. Might have. As in there's a better chance of Remus becoming the Minister of Magic.)

I had fun too. I almost forgot how insane the four of you boys are. Sirius pulled me to the side before I left and said- well, it doesn't really matter what he said; he was jealous that I spent the whole day with you instead of him. 'You're leaving me for my best mate, Evans. Oh the pain.' He's such a dramatic, that one is.

You should know by now James that Jill _lives_ to take the piss out of people. That's what she does. You should live with her for a week. I'm sure you'll get immune to her comments by then. 'Honestly Evans, your hair is atrocious,' 'Come on Red, don't tell me you're wearing that ugly jumper to go on your date,' 'Your mum is so pretty, how'd you end up with a face like that?' 'God Lily, don't you have any proper bras? I'm getting you some decent lingerie for your birthday.' She told me all of those things while we were getting ready to you all up. Mary joined her in on it too. 'You look like a bloody carrot when you blush.' To be honest you get used to the abuse after a while. If it helps make your precious male ego feel better, I think your muscles are absolutely grand and your hair positively screams of sex (like you so kindly reminded me twenty times on Friday).

She _is_ still over - both she and Mary actually. They're leaving tomorrow. I told Jill what you said and she scoffed before saying, 'Go tell your boyfriend that he can suck my-' Well, what she said was very rude and I'm not going to write that here. Oh Jill. I love her so much.

(I don't think she cares that you're going to make her run laps. I don't even think she's going to do it even if you make her).

Do me a favour yeah? When you and her eventually come head to head please don't bring me into it. The two of you can figure things out on your own.

Mary and Jillian have made it impossible to shut up to my mum about the trip as well. Mum keeps badgering me about meeting you now. I swear to god, as soon as you mention the name 'James' she bloody apparates to wherever you are. 'James sounds so lovely, Lily, I can't believe this is the same boy you've complained about for the past few years. From what Mary and Jillian have told me he sounds nothing short of a gentleman.'

My mum hasn't even met you and you already have her wrapped around your little finger. Thanks for that.

(I'm not sure if I should be annoyed or pleased. Mum's been going on and on about 'that James boy' and it's driving Petunia mad. Mum never talks about Vernon this way. Ha. Ha ha ha ha. I've found a use for you after all. You're not even here and you're annoying my sister. I have half the mind to bring you home now. It would drive her spare).

I wasn't going to tell my mum that you thought her cooking was divine- she already loves you way too much- but I did a very stupid thing in which I accidentally left your letter lying open on my desk and Mary and Jill found it. Needless to say that Mum, Mary and even Jillian (I know, it shocked me too) spent the rest of the day cooing over you. Mum said it's perfectly fine for you to marry into the family by the way. She promised to make cake for you every weekend. See, when I tell her that her cake is good she says 'Stop kissing up to me, Lily,' 'That's nice dear but don't think that means you don't have to clean your room,' 'If you eat so much cake all the time no boys are going to like you, Lily.'

I don't care if no boys like me. I like cake more than I like boys. Boys are so needy. All they want is food and to play quidditch and for you to snog them. Well excuse me if I rather my mouth be busy with this cake instead of your mouth.

You're lucky your house is big enough for you to be able to hide. If I want to do something without Mary and Jillian finding out about it I need to lock myself in the bathroom and that doesn't always work out because they use magic to get in. Thankfully they haven't been able to find the other letters (per your advice I hid them in my knicker drawer along with the box of chocolates you made me sneak out at midnight for last week- don't get too excited now).

I'll send Sirius a message to clear it up. Don't worry. I can promise you he won't pry after that.

Parting is such a sweet sorrow (that's the correct quote, thank you very much),  
Lily.

* * *

Dear Sirius,

A little birdie told me that you wanted to know what happened in those moments James and I disappeared when all of us went out together on Friday. Since James didn't want to admit you to the fun, I decided that I would. (Hey, I have an owl now- thanks for that by the way- and James sent his last letter with Wrock. I can write to you _and_ him at the same time. Two birds, one stone. Literally.)

We've actually become pretty good friends over the past few weeks but on Friday, well, let's just say that your best mate and I became... _intimately_ associated with one another. I wasn't really an alleyway kind of girl before but he managed to persuade me. He's very good with his mouth you know.

And his tongue.

Not to mention his hands (although I supposed you knew that already since he's just so good at quidditch- but I'm not really talking about quidditch here if you get my drift.) I can understand why James didn't want to tell you. I'll spare you from the torrid details of course. Those are to keep me company on lonely nights when my bed is cold and empty and woefully lacking James.

-Red

* * *

Dear Lily,

I assume you sent Sirius the message you were telling me about. What the bloody hell did you write in that thing? He turned white, then red and then ended up staying green for the remainder of the day. He wouldn't even look at me. On the bright side he's stopped badgering me so you succeeded in that mission.

In my defence, they didn't have any cold Butterbeers at the time and you were stealing _my_ chips. I asked you if you wanted your own and you said no before proceeding to eat out more than half of mine. Women are so contradictory. I happen to like chips with plenty of vinegar so keep your complaints to yourself.

Sirius is always jealous of anyone who interacts with you. In his mind, giving you a leather jacket for Christmas last is the metaphorical equivalent of him pissing on you and claiming you as his own. He'll never admit it but he's actually quite a soft heart under the layer of leather, motorcycle grease and snark.

You have successfully patched up my broken male ego. In fact, you did that and then some. By the way, I don't care what Mary says; I think you're adorable when you're flustered. And you most certainly do not look like a carrot when you blush. More like a muggle stoplight. I'm kidding. You always look cute (not to mention fit.)

Next time I see O'Connor I'm going to hold her at wand point and make her finish that sentence. And then I'll hex her so that she calls me 'James Potter the Great' for an entire week. You'll help me with that. I know you said that you don't want to get involved but I just need you to lure her out into the open for me to wipe that smirk off her face. I think I've lost my title of arrogant toerag to her instead.

Both of our mums are mental. Completely and irrevocably mental.

(If you ever want me to come home by you to help annoy your sister you know that I'd agree before you can even finish the question.)

That was a low blow, Evans, turning my own words against me. Although I'm totally with you on the cake thing; I love that cake more than most people.

I love that cake more than Nimbus. That's now much I love it.

Curious to know what you wrote in that letter to Sirius,  
James.

P.S: I'll like you, no matter how much cake you eat. We can indulge in our gluttony together.

* * *

Dear James,

You should have sent me a picture of Sirius' face. I would have framed it and hung it on my wall. 'The time I scared off Sirius Black,' is what it would say underneath. I'm glad he stopped bothering you though. This doesn't mean that I'm telling you what I wrote in that letter by the way. I'm actually surprised he didn't follow us into the bookstore. I'm even more surprised that no one heard us when we said that we were going to the bookstore. Thank you for buying me that Charms book though. I mean, I could have bought it myself. You already do so many things for me, James. This friendship is starting to feel rather onesided. I might have to start giving you more compliments (that's going to be difficult.)

The book is amazing though. I found so many new spells and I've been trying them out. If you would let me, a few of them would come in rather handy during some of your pranks. One charms paint so that everyone can see it except the person it's on. Think about how Mulciber would look covered in red and gold paint. Think about how pissed off he'd be when he can't see it. I'll need you to help me sneak down in to the Slytherin dorms though. We'll discuss this in further detail when school reopens.

Don't tell him I said this, but Sirius is like an adorable little puppy half the time. I can never have the heart to stay angry at him for long, even when he's obnoxiously clingy and possessive.

I'm glad that I've repaired your ego. The world might combust if James Potter were to- dare I say it- humble himself. And thank you (I think.)

Maybe I _might_ help you. I'll just tell you that Jillian and I are going to the library at a certain time and you'll find yourself in an empty corridor right before we walk by. That's it. You figure out the rest.

Our mums _are_ mental, you're not coming home with me in the near future because Petunia'll murder me (I don't want to die young thank you. I intend on living until I'm at least seventy) and I can give you as many low blows as I please and we all know that you're not going to do a thing about it.

The cake is better than _all_ people,  
Lily.

P.S: Nice try, but I don't fancy sharing cake.

* * *

Dear Evans,

You little minx.

You dirty, dirty girl.

You're always saying that _I'm_ the one whose mind needs a good _Scourgify_ or scrubbed clean with a bottle of Mrs. Scower's but that's you.

I found your letter to Sirius, love. I never thought I'd hear Lily Evans say dirty things- much less write them- about me. You're bloody amazing, Evans. I have half the mind to actually do all of those things that you insinuated in that letter (I am very good with my tongue and these hands don't only win at quidditch _if you get my drift_) but you might hex me until I resemble a cockroach so I won't.

(We both know the truth though. You want me-completely understandable, who doesn't?)

The naughty letter combined with the thrill of hearing you plan out a prank... you really are perfect, you know that? You may have declined my original proposal but it's on the table again. You're a fucking goddess because bloody hell you're smart and amazing and you write morally depraved letters to my best mate (who fucking adores you by the way) and come up with amazing pranks and I'm pretty sure I want to marry now (and the cake is an added perk.)

I'll come over to your house anyway. Do you think your mum will still love me when she's found out that I've proposed? It certainly will piss your sister off, that's for sure. (I'll protect you if your sister tries to murder you- if she tries to kill me however then I'm sorry; I'm legging it out of there. Like you, I intend on living until I'm old and grey and wrinkled and not the effortless sex god that I am right now.) (Come on, you admitted that I'm a sex god a few days ago. I have to milk that opportunity for all it's got. That's the best compliment I've ever got.)

I don't do _enough_ for you, Evans. And our relationship isn't onesided; I'm still in awe that we're actually friends. Real friends. Like, I actually got to give you a hug and hold your hand last Friday and you didn't hex me. Stop feeling guilty over the damn book. If you want to repay me, get me more cake (or something out of that letter to Sirius.)

Worshipping that cake as god now,  
James.

P.S: Did I ever formally ask for your hand in marriage?

* * *

Dear James,

Oh damn. You've figured me out. Am I that transparent? I want you, I need you. Oh baby, oh baby. Do me all those things you have half the mind to do that I insinuated in that letter. Prove to me how good you are with your tongue and show me how you win at 'quidditch.'

Stop it James. I'm not perfect the slightest. I thought these last few weeks would have proved that point to you. You do more than enough and my friendship is a shite way of repaying you. I mean, look at all the things you've had to deal with.

And of course Sirius loves me. Everybody loves me.

Come over to my house and I'll skin you alive.

About to start a religion in the name of the cake god,  
Lily.

P.S: No

* * *

Dear Lily,

I thought so. I'll take you against a wall. After all, I managed to persuade you to become an alleyway girl. I'll show you and prove to you how much a sex god I am.

(I never thought that one could convey sarcasm so efficiently in a letter but you've proved me wrong yet again. The parchment was bloody reeking of it.)

Sirius is still freaked out and vaguely nauseous every time I bring you up. Which is more regularly than usual now thanks to your little note. Especially when I mention how much you like my quidditch skills with a secretive smile. Or your knickers. Last night I said that I know more about your knickers than the average bloke (you do mention your unmentionables quite a lot, love) while we were having dinner. Needless to say, he did not stay for desert so I had not one but two pieces of pie (bless your soul Lils).

I think you're perfect (so frankly I don't care what you think in this matter) and our friendship means the world to me.

You're right about that at least; _everyone_ loves you.

I belong to the cake religion now,  
James.

P.S: Marry me, Evans?

* * *

James,

Meet me in Knockturn Alley; we'll do all of those things right in front of a group of pureblood supremacists. I'll even let you keep the knickers. Sirius won't be able to eat for a week. Poor bloke is going to become a bag of bones.

You really need to stop saying such sweet things because I can never follow them up because I am a door knob.

Everyone loves you too you know,  
Lily.

P.S: No.

* * *

Lily,

Ahh don't tempt me, Evans. Not sure which will be better- the deeds or the aftermath (in which I get Sirius' share of desert for a while).

You don't have to follow up my compliments, they're just well-deserved truths.

You're a pretty cute doorknob then,

James.

P.S: You'll change your mind, no one can resist me for long.

* * *

_**I think I'm about to get cavities from all of this fluff.**_

_**xoxo**_

_**Nai and Tisha**_


	7. Week 7

_**Thanks to all the reviewers, favouriters and alerters. You guys make us want to write even more. This chapter is the longest so far and possibly the fluffiest/ naughtiness. Nai went a bit mad with the sex jokes.**_

* * *

**Chapter 7- Week 7  
or  
I Write Reassurances to a Git, Not Love Letters**

Dear James,

I got my Hogwarts letter today (last night really- it flew in while we were having dinner with Vernon and scared the ever living hell out of him. Petunia was not pleased) and amidst all the usually tosh about uniforms and booklists and so on, a badge fell out.

And not just any old badge, no. The Head Girl badge.

_I WAS MADE HEAD GIRL HOLY MARY MOTHER OF MERLIN AND MORGANA._

To be honest, I really wasn't expecting that. Well, all right, maybe I expected it a little. Like I thought that there was a thirteen percent chance that when I opened that letter there'd be a little gold badge glinting at me. I actually reread the letter four times to make sure that Dumbledore wrote 'Lily Evans' and not someone else. He didn't mention who the Head Boy was though. Although I probably wouldn't have noticed since I was too preoccupied staring at my name whilst gaping like a mentally addled fish.

When it fell out I positively screeched, which then caused the owl to screech and panic, which then caused Vernon to screech, panic and eventually fall off of his chair. (If you felt any slight earth tremors yesterday at around a quarter past seven, it was him.) Of course, after 'that ruddy animal nearly killed him!' according to Petunia, I did manage to calm down a little bit- calm down is a relative term as in I stopped my screeching and just went to vibrating on the spot- and tell my mum who started yelling as well about how she was so happy and proud of me before pulling me into a bone crushing hug. My ribs still feel a bit sore.

Petunia disappeared with Vernon during all of this. I cornered her a bit later when she returned home where she proceeded to yell at me. 'God Lily, does everything have to be about you? You're such a self centred bitch!'

Let it be known that if she catches me breathing I'm still selfish. How dare I attract attention by going about normal bodily processes? The shame, Lily Evans, the shame.

She can't get my mood down now anyway (okay, well she did a bit last night. I went on another chocolate binge to console myself of the fact that my sister hates me. I'm better now. Chocolate always cures a sour mood.) I'm much too excited about this news to let her bring me down again.

While I was eating the chocolate last night (or this morning depending on how you look at it) I thought of you (see, there I'm admitting that I actually spared a thought for James Potter. Bloody hell, look how the tables have turned) and decided that I'd pen you a letter. I fell asleep though before I could make good on that thought unfortunately, and woke up this morning cuddling with the box of chocolate. I'm still in bed actually, as I write to you. It's only seven in the morning and I have no intentions of getting out of bed until it's nine for the very latest. It's much too warm and comfortable.

You're the first person I'm writing about my appointment actually. Usually I would have written Mary or Jillian first but you were the first person I thought of. Don't let it get to your head though. You're still and speccy git with crap handwriting who's redeemed some points for doing such nice things for me all the time. I think you may be right after all; you're going to end up losing the title of arrogant toerag to Jillian.

What a pity.

Not really. I like you not being a toerag. You're still a git though. I doubt anything could ever poke a large enough hole in your ego so that your head could fit through a doorway. James Potter isn't James Potter without his oversized head. At least it's moved down from being the size of the castle to roughly the size of Gryffindor Tower. That's always a good thing.

Ah hell. Mum caught me writing this letter. I knew I shouldn't have opened my curtains. She says to tell you that she sends her love, so as creepy as it sounds, my mum sends you her love. Eugh. Stop seducing my mum Potter.

Petunia just passed by as well. I asked her if she had anything to tell you and she just sniffed disdainfully and called me a cow. Or did she mean for me to tell you you're a cow? Does that mean she thinks you're warm and cuddly or something? Have you been seducing my sister as well? You're such a Lothario, Potter. I guess we can both be the town trollops together. My sister still thinks I'm playing around with three blokes apparently. I would have told her otherwise but it's just too funny when she wrinkles her nose and says that I'm such an embarrassment to the family. A huge, slaggy self absorbed embarrassment. I wonder what she might think if she knew that one of the so called blokes was actually a Giant Squid.

Hey, on the bright side if this whole N.E.W.T.s thing doesn't work out I can always quit school to work the corner. Maybe by Knockturn Alley. Imagine the looks on their bigoted faces when they've realised that they've paid a mudblood to get them off. Oh, I'd pay myself just to see that.

Reading back on that, I can say with one hundred percent certainty that if I write letters when I've just woken up I make no sense whatsoever. You're a saint if you managed to make it through all of that without scoffing and throwing it in the dustbin.

Waffles with chocolate syrup are calling my name therefore I must part,  
Lily

* * *

Lily,

I've been made Head Boy.

James

* * *

James,

_You're_ Head Boy? You? As in James whatever the hell your middle name is Potter is Head Boy? Bloody hell, you can't just write that on a letter and send it, expecting me to be okay. Write back immediately. I demand more details.

Lily

* * *

James,

What part of write back immediately don't you understand? It's been more than twelve hours since I sent my last message. Why haven't you written to me as yet? What's wrong? Is everything okay over there? The only way I'm letting you off scotch free is if you happened to get into an accident with Sirius on that dratted motorcycle.

Lily

* * *

Potter,

So help me if you don't write back to me, I'm going to apparate straight over to your house and hex you silly. Write back to me, you foolish boy.

Lily

* * *

Speccy Twat Faced Git with Atrocious Handwriting,

That's it; I'm taking a page out of your book and telling Artemis not to leave until you write something. In fact, I'm going to tell her to peck you intermittently until you finally pick up a damn quill and _write to me_. Your choice on whether you want scars all over your person. Wanker.

Evans.

* * *

Dear Lily,

My hand is bleeding now. Thanks for that. Everything is fine (besides my wounded hand that is), everyone's okay and Sirius and I almost did get into an accident involving the motorbike (and a pair of muggle aurors) but that's a story for another time.

Both Sirius and I got our letters Sunday night during dinner. Since we were in the middle of eating, we just chucked it on to the small desk by the doorway. And that's when we heard a loud 'clunk' from my envelope and found that stupid badge. Sirius hasn't stopped taking the mickey ever since and it's driving me up the wall. I'm either going to strangle him or myself, the semantics aren't particularly clear as yet, but one out of the two will happen. Or both. Both is good.

Oh Merlin this is terrible idea. This is a really fucking bad idea.

Me? As Head Boy? What is Dumbledore on? What the bloody fucking hell could have gone through his mind when he made that decision? Why did McGonagall even back up that decision? Are they out of their bleeding minds? I'll be the worst Head Boy to ever Head.

This must be some joke that Sirius and they are orchestrating. It has to be. I mean, look at me! I'm a troublemaker; a Marauder! I literally let in a lion at the end of year feast after we were awarded the house cup. Granted I did just transfigure a stray kitten into the lion but still. I made a first year Ravenclaw faint.

I'm going to be a shite Head Boy.

I break rules, not enforce them. For Circe's sake, I wasn't even a fucking prefect. Surely there's some sort of rule against that. It's always a prefect who becomes Head. Remus should have been Head. Remus deserves this bloody badge more than I do. For fuck's sake, Snape deserves this badge more than I do.

Sirius thinks this entire thing is some prank because, according to him, 'no way has Dumbledore lost all his marbles as yet,' Peter keeps rolling his eyes whenever I bring up the topic (he agrees with Sirius), Remus hasn't been able to stop laughing ever since I told him and I think my mum's face is going to stick like that if she doesn't stop smiling so widely. She's kept on saying that my dad would have been so proud me if he were here and I just can't take that. I've been holed up in my room for the past two days, playing with my snitch. The snitch that I nicked when I was in fifth year might I remind you. What type of Head Boy steals sports supplies from the school cupboards? Ones that shouldn't have been appointed in the first place.

Congratulations, though, on your Head Girl-ship, Lily. I'm so sorry that you've ended up with an incompetent baboon for your partner. I don't know the first thing about doing Head things. How do you Head? The letter didn't come with any instructions or anything about Head.

This is terrible, horrible, the worst, so many other things.

I'm fucked, Evans, really I am.

James.

* * *

Dear Stupid Ignorant Berk,

Listen up here Potter and listen good: you're not going to be a shite Head Boy.

No one really knows how to Head at first (Merlin, you must be in a panic if you didn't realise the litany of dirty jokes and naughty things that can be made with that particular wording.) You learn, just like you learn to do everything else in life. (Although this type of Head is something that doesn't concern broom cupboards.) (Actually, it does sometimes, but you're usually outside with a stuffy old prefect, not inside with a fit bloke- er, bird, that is.) Surely you had to learn how to ride a broomstick the first time you sat on one. If that's anything to go by, then you'll be one of the best Head Boys Hogwarts has ever seen.

Dumbledore was on the right track, I reckon, and McGonagall knew it too. You're incredibly smart, James, and yeah, you might be a massive prick at times, but you have a firm sense of right and wrong, which is something that a good Head Boy needs. You just have rather... unconventional ways of punishment. We don't tie people up if they do something wrong (rather unfortunate really since there's a list of people I'd love to tie up and throw into the Black Lake- as embarrassing as it is, you were one of those for a long while. Now... well, what I want to do with you now doesn't matter.)

You'll be an amazing Head Boy and I agree with your mum; your dad would have been proud of you. Forget about Remus and they. They're a bunch of tossers anyway. Why consider their opinion when you can listen to mine, yeah?

That being said, Godric Gryffindor is rolling over in his grave at your cowardice. Get that bum in gear, love! Get out of your stuffy, old room and head outside, play some quidditch, shove Sirius down a hill, whatever. Being Head isn't the end of the world, especially since I know that you'll be a damn good one.

I honestly couldn't care less about who you think 'deserves' it more than you. I'm glad that it's you. You're not as vile as I once thought. It's now quite the opposite, actually. I'd much rather carry out rounds, work out the points' ledger and draw up the patrol schedule with you any day. Out of all the seventh year boys, you'd probably at the top of my list (with Remus as a close second.) I don't think I can handle doing all of that with one of the Slytherins. 'Can you do up this week's points for me?' 'Avada Kedavra you fucking mudblood!'

See? With you around I don't have to worry about any out of the blue death curses shot at me by fascist pureblood supremacists. Okay, well I might, but the risk will be lowered if you're doing Head with me. (Again, I'm trying to hold back the hoard of dirty things. I've been spending too much time around you. My mind needs cleansing.)

Congratulations on becoming Head Boy, James. You'll be absolutely brilliant at it and don't try to tell me otherwise lest I curse you black and blue. Stop tearing your hair out. It may be a bloody nuisance at times, but what would James Potter be without his ridiculous hair? And if Sirius keeps on harassing you, then I'll just send him another letter. I think I can come up with a few things that I can say to him.

The only way you're fucked is if you actually get head (I'm sorry, I couldn't resist),  
Lily

P.S: Mum baked more cake, sort of as a celebration of my Head Girl-ship. I managed to nick about four or five slices for you in hopes that it will get you out of your misery.

* * *

Black,

Stop teasing James about his Head-ship. I can assure you that he'll be very good at it. In fact, I know that he's _very_ good at Head so let off.

Red

* * *

Dear Lily,

You're rather amazing, you know that? Really, really amazing, Lily Evans.

Remember sometime last week (or was it the week before? I don't know; all of these letters have slowly started blending into each other and I've lost all concept of time) when you said that this friendship is one sided? This right here- that is, your previous letter- proves that it isn't. I don't care that you think you don't pull your weight, Evans; you do, and then so much more of that. You're just really fucking amazing. I'm glad you're my friend.

Your letter did help- a lot. As soon as I read it I got out of my room and I pushed Sirius down the stairs as I couldn't find a hill anywhere. Don't worry, he's all right; just broke his arm. Nothing we can't fix with a swish of our wands. I still have fears about this whole thing, and I'm still bloody lost as to what I have to do, but you're right (as always) that I'm just going to have to learn. You'll teach me how to Head properly, right Evans? I'm sure you won't mind teaching how to Head until my actions have properly satisfied you.

I'm making up for my lack of dirty jokes in the past. My nervous breakdown desensitised me to such depraved hilarity.

I'll try my best not hex anyone as punishment, but I'm not making any promises on that. The moment I hear someone call you, or any other muggleborn that foul word, I'm shooting a Scourgify that's so strong that they'll have bubbles coming out of their nose for a week. At least that's marginally better than tying someone up and throwing them in to the lake. I agree with you there though; there's a list of people I'd like to feed to the squid (how is he by the way? You haven't takes about him in a while. Or Christopher for that matter. What happened to all the men in your life Evans?), one of them being fifth year me. What say both you and I go out and find him, tie him up and chuck him into the Black Lake?

Since I'm not quite as vile as I were before, fancy telling me all those things you'd like to do to me now, love? I know you said that it didn't matter, but you can't just say something like _that_ and not expect it to pique my interest. I bet you'd like to tie me up (for an entirely different reason other than lake throwing, mind you) and get down to Head business.

Thank you, though. You're not so bad at this pep talk thing, you know. (And I'm not just saying that because you gave cake, what an absurd thought.) You're much better than Sirius at any rate. He hasn't given me any cake nor offered to practice Head business (although that would be a bit strange- not to mention further prove rumours which are _certainly not true_.) I did see the letter you sent him though; you've stolen my heart, Lily Evans. A fit bird who says naughty things- funny, naughty things- sends me cake and helps me out with blasted Potions homework. The only way you could possibly be better is if you were as fanatic about quidditch as I am. I guess you normal level of fanaticism could work. You do cheer me on at school matches after all.

Again, thank you for your letter. I still think that I'm going to fuck up but not quite as much as before. I haven't been tearing my hair out. Much. And don't call it ridiculous. I have proof that you think 'my muscles are grand and the hair absolutely screams sex.' Written proof. Try all you might, love, you know you love it.

Naughty girl, Evans; I like it,  
James

P.S: I did not properly respond to your first letter (sorry) so tell your mum that I accept her love and send some of mine back in return, especially for the cake. Also, I can assure you that I am not getting it on with your sister but who could blame me if I was? I have a thing for Evans women.

P.P.S: I am very warm and cuddly.

* * *

Dear James,

I can't believe you still don't think you're good enough to be Head Boy. Bloody hell. I could list out all the reasons why I think you'll be fantastic but first off, my hand will start cramping and I severely doubt I have enough parchment for a letter that long and secondly, I'm a lazy, selfish slag. Honestly, you're supposed to know this already, Potter.

(If you're proposing to practice Head with me until I've been properly satisfied, then I'll definitely be up for that. It'll be fun. I get to _whip_ you into shape. I can see it now. Lots of fun for the two of us. _Just_ the two of us, that is.)

(Pick your jaw of the floor now. There's a good lad. I'll have you know that I'm properly versed in dirty talk. Who wouldn't be with Jillian as their best friend?)

What I'm trying to say is that all of those reasons why you'll be fantastic are going to take forever to write out. It'll be faster if I tell you in person. That way I can hex you if you try to refute. (Refute and I'll really tie you up and chuck you in the Black Lake- prat or not.) In fact, I think we should do that. I haven't bought any of my school things as yet (well, we don't need that much; only two new textbooks and I need to get some new robes) so what say you and I go to Diagon Alley this Saturday? Without our mates, of course. I can't reassure you of your competence at being Head with Sirius and Jillian around.

(Agree to come with me; the Giant Squid and Christopher have turned me down as they both have other more important things to do on that day. Right now the only man in my life is you, Potter. And Sirius on occasion, but he's being a prat at the moment so I'm ignoring him.)

Does that sound good? Saturday we'll meet up at the Leaky Cauldron for about ten and spend the day together getting school supplies. I don't care if you've gotten yours already; I haven't and I need someone to carry around all those bags. Impress me with those muscles, Potter.

I know I'm amazing. You're not the first person to tell me that. I'm amazing, smart and pretty. What more could you want?

Please, you like _me_,  
Lily

P.S: Evans women with red hair are the best. Not the blonde, horse face ones who perpetually stare at you as though you're dung. And I stole that cake for you, my mum did not send it. She did however yell at me for having four slices of cake to mysteriously disappear.

P.P.S: I don't believe you. I need proof.

* * *

Dear Loony, Soul-less Ginger,

Someone is amazingly self assured, aren't they? And you call me an arrogant toerag. (Not that I'm calling you a toerag- you're far from it in fact.)

Saturday is fine, I haven't bought my school things as yet either (I think we need the same things really- robes, new Charms text and Defence text) so I'll be there. I'm going to have to sneak out though. Not that my mum won't allow it (she would probably kick me out if I don't go out with you), but if Sirius gets word of this he'll tell the others and next thing you know they're hiding out behind dustbins, tying to spy on us. This'll be one of our little secrets, right Lils?

For you, dear, I'll put on entire show. Would you like me to strip my shirt off and rub myself down in oil as well? I did actually have to pick my jaw off the ground. If you're going to be talking to me like that on Saturday then I'm definitely going to be there.

Couldn't hide that from you forever,  
James

P.S: You are the best, yes, that is a fact.

P.P.S: Are you asking me to show you how warm and cuddly I am, Evans? Because I'll gladly do that; right after I show you my muscles.

* * *

Dear Git,

Call me a soul less ginger again and there'll be no more dirty talking ever again. I've told you at least a hundred times that it's red. I am not a carrot. I am a red head who will shove carrots up somewhere very unpleasant if you make that mistake again.

I could use a good show. Put those nonexistent quidditch muscles to good use, yeah. And if that's an incentive to get you to be there on Saturday, try _hard_ to _come_. That's just a preview of things to come. Show up and there'll be more. Loads more.

You're not too bad yourself Potter,  
Lily.

P.S: Glad you've accepted it.

P.P.S: Fine then; I'm holding you to that, though.

* * *

Dear Lily,

Mum said yes. Will be there on Saturday. Can't wait to see you (not to mention hear you whisper naughty things in my ear.)

James

* * *

_**Next week'll be the last chapter. Wow, time sure flies.**_

_**xoxo  
**__**Nai and Tish **_


	8. Week 8

_**Last chapter. We have so many mixed feelings right now, but we'll save the goodbyes for down below.**_

* * *

**Chapter 8- Week 8  
or  
I Write Retellings of a Not-a-Date, Not Love Letters**

Dear Evans,

Well.

That was a veritable disaster.

I'm so sorry. Are you okay? You didn't get in trouble with your mum did you? I know you said you had to be home by four and I brought you back... three hours later than that. I'm sorry. I really hope you don't get punished because of my stupidity. (It won't be the first time.) (That was a lame attempt at a joke; again, I'm sorry.)

If it makes you feel better my mum can't shut up about you. You didn't have to come with me to get my arm fixed, you know. I'm a big boy. I can handle a broken arm for an hour or so. Merlin knows I've gotten worse. She's been saying all sorts of things. 'Oh that Lily is so lovely.' 'She's gotten prettier since that fleeting moment on the platform when I saw her last.' 'How is it that she manages to put up with you, I'll never understand, James.' 'Isn't she such a darling, Sirius?'

Sirius on the other hand is not talking to me. He's a tad bit upset that I snuck out to go to Diagon Alley with you without telling him. When I turned around and said that it was because he would show up with an arm full of cauldron cakes to spy on up he scoffed and said, 'I'm not thick enough to sabotage your date with Evans; she'd curse my bollocks off if I even dared.'

Two things came out of that little statement.

1. Why is my best mate more afraid of a tiny redhead who barely brushes his chin than me, the same bloke who broke his arm last week?

2. After I told him that it most certainly was not a date (last I checked dates require some sort of romantic interaction; you spent the entire day calling me a git- well, except for that last hour when you saved my life but that's neither here nor there) he rolled his eyes and said some very unkind things about me, you, and me and you as a collective.

(His arm may or may not be broken again.)

(Mum may or not have threatened to break my arms once more.)

It seems as though anything and everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong. I mean, that's the busiest the Leaky Cauldron has ever been in years. We couldn't even find ruddy seats and had to settle for a muggle cafe (which was surprisingly pleasant by the way) where you had to pay because I'm the blighter who doesn't walk with muggle money at all.

Mum heard about that (me not paying) and practically abused me with a copy of that day's Prophet. I think it accidentally slipped out of my mouth while I was moaning and groaning about how catastrophic things went and she rolled up the newspaper and thwack! Right across the back of the head. 'Didn't I teach you to always pay for a lady, James Potter? What kind of son do you think you are?' Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

Sirius was laughing his arse off across the room despite his broken arm. So now I have a headache (thanks mum, the maternal love is just overpowering) as well as a stupid broken arm. See? Absolute disaster yesterday was.

Not to mention the rain.

That definitely put a bit of a damper on things.

Or a rather large damper on things since I was drenched to the bone after that little downpour. You were too, come to think of it. No offence, Evans, but you looked like a drenched cat when wet. A drenched cat that would probably claw out my eyes for that comment.

Er... you're a pretty looking drenched cat?

I'm digging my own grave here, aren't I? You really need to learn how to shut up, Potter.

Pulling my foot out of my mouth now, thank you for inviting me. It was unexpectedly enlightening. After several rows, three threats of dismemberment and one slap I think I get the picture now. I can do this Head thing. As long as pretty redheads that go by the name of Lily Evans are there at my side to help me out with it.

You won't rest until I've properly Headed for you, isn't that right love?

I feel as though I'm slowly inching my way back in to the 'I'm going to kill you next time I see you' category with all of these stupid (albeit funny- come on, you know you laughed) comments. Please don't do that. Who else is going to do Head with you if you kill me?

All right. Stopping now, I swear.

I know it sounds stupid since I saw you only yesterday, but I miss you. You certainly lived up to your promise of whispering naughty things in my ear. Don't tell Sirius this (he'll kick me out of my own house, he'll write the other Marauders and they'll kick me out of their houses and the dormitory too) but I can't remember the last time I laughed so much because of one person. You really are something Lily Evans. Something amazing and special and should never believe what those fucking twats told you yesterday.

Had the time of his life despite the fact that it was a complete fucking disaster,  
James

* * *

Dear Potter,

If you seriously think that I spared those morons a second thought (all right, a _third_ thought) then you're wrong.

I've been dealing with that kind of shite for the past year and a half. I don't know about you, but the shock of being called 'Mudblood' every five seconds has sort of worn off, oh, about a month after it started.

Not going to lie though; it was a right catastrophe yesterday. Rain, no space in the Leaky Cauldron (if you had dared insulted that cafe I would have insulted your face. And by insult your face I mean punch you straight in the fucking nose. It's one of my favourite places ever to visit) and pureblood fascists to top it off.

At least you bought me ice cream. Ice cream made it better, although marginally so.

My mum wasn't mad at me reaching home late. Well, she was a bit at first but thank god you were there because the moment she set eyes on you all of that went out the window. You have a use after all it seems. Next time she catches me breaking into the liquor cabinet you'll apparate to my house and pull me out of trouble, right love? Smile at her, bat your eyelashes, praise her cake, I don't really care what you do to distract her so long as she's no longer on my case for nicking a bottle of whiskey. Muggle whiskey is way better than Firewhiskey. Properly distract her and maybe I'll give you some to taste. Maybe. I'm rather stingy when it comes to my alcohol.

Is your arm all right? You were sobbing like a little baby when he broke it. You needn't defend me you know. I can handle myself. And even if you do choose to defend me, there's this little thing called magic. Rather handy thing I've heard. Much easier than socking someone straight in the jaw, especially when the someone has four other wizards backing him up and those four other wizards are much larger than me any day.

My mum can't shut up about you either. Once again you're driving Petunia mad without being here. I knew there had to be at least one good reason why I hang out around you. 'That James is so handsome!' 'He's such a polite, young man, Lily.' 'At least there's someone out there who you haven't scared off with that temper of yours.' Blah blah blah.

She meets you for five minutes (if so much) and it's all she's been able to talk about ever since.

Because of your impromptu visit, it sent her a bit off kilter and she didn't notice that I was wearing your jumper when I snuck up to my room, thank Merlin for that. I can only imagine what she might have said. Petunia on the other hand did notice and now thinks that we're shagging. I did nothing to dissuade this rumour. She was eyeing you from the kitchen while you were speaking to mum by the way. Yes Tuney. That is how normal boys look. However, I need you to back up and stop mentally undressing my mate with your eyes. Stick to your Vernon, sis. I'm ninety nine percent sure that James wants nothing to do with you, my magic hating sister.

I think I may have even fuelled the fire a bit with a little passing remark about how wonderful you are. Don't let it get to your head.

Of course Sirius is afraid of me. You're afraid of me too. All four of you boys are afraid of me and I live off your fear.

Your mum is the sweetest person ever and I refuse to believe that you got hit in any shape or form with the newspaper. How could someone so nice produce a terror of a child like you? I'm not sure if you remember as you were too busy crying into my shirt (you are such a baby sometimes; I know for a fact that you've gotten worse through quidditch) but she was telling me of the time you thought it would be funny to stand on your broomstick and fly through the house. I can picture baby James doing just that and it's a rather funny (and all right, cute) sight. Tell me, do you still have a scar the shape of the curtain rod end on your arse?

I didn't really mind the rain all that much. I love rain. When I was younger I used to sneak out to play in the garden during rain showers. Mum was always furious because she was afraid that I'd get pneumonia or something. What I don't like about the rain is when my clothes start sticking to my skin and becoming see-through. That's not nice the slightest. Thanks again for lending me your jumper. I'll return that (as well as the Transfiguration text you loaned me) on the train. Oh Merlin, Jillian is going to have a field day with that, isn't she? Lily Evans walking through the Hogwarts' Express holding James Potter's jumper in one hand and his book in the other.

If word of that gets around then not only my sister is going to think we've been getting up to no good.

I do think it's rather unavoidable though, as Sirius already saw me in it when I showed up, sopping wet in the fireplace and clutching onto your non broken arm. He's probably penned letters to Remus, Peter, Jillian and Mary already and they're discussing wedding colours. Merlin. What did we do to get stuck with such barmy ones for friends?

Glad to know that I've finally set your head on straight. I can assure you that by the time I'm finished with you, you'll be doing Head as though you've been doing it your entire life. Chew on that will you.

I miss you too. Petunia doesn't understand my witticisms and snarky tendencies while I certainly can't tell mum any dirty jokes. Five more days until I see you again. Think you can hold out that long without any of this, Potter?

Enjoyed herself too,  
Lily.

* * *

Dear Lily,

See, that's the sad thing, innit? That you've become completely desensitised towards all of that shite.

Yeah, it was a right fucking catastrophe, but a good one. Well, besides the whole 'breaking my arm thing and getting attacked by a bunch of arseholes.' We should do this again when we head back out to school. I'm pretty sure that we won't have to worry about people intent on doing you in back in Hogsmeade. I mean, there's the Slytherins, but I think they know well enough to leave us alone by now, especially after that little prank at the end of last year. Not to mention all those times you landed them in the Hospital Wing.

It's safe to say that they're a tad bit afraid of us. We make quite a team, don't we? I hope you live off of their fear like you do with Sirius and mine's.

I'm making a list of things that make Lily Evans happy. So far I have chocolate, ice cream and books that aren't on the curriculum syllabus. This is just in case I happen to piss you off by accident during the school term. You're quite right in stating that Sirius and I are afraid of you. You can be very scary when angry. Pretty, but scary.

I'm also making another list entitled 'things to do with Lily Evans.' Carry you to an actual quidditch match, teach you how to write properly, prank the Slytherins (with that handy little spell you were telling me about all those weeks ago) and do general rule breaking across the school.

All Evans women like me. What can I say? I'm a charmer. So long as you share whatever it is you're stealing (two months ago I would have never thought that you would be stealing anything, much less alcohol; now however I simply raise my eyebrows slightly because I can honestly see you doing that just for the kick of it) I'll be more than happy to chat up your mum.

Petunia was staring at me, eh? Pity I didn't catch a glimpse of her. I could have some real fun if I did. Sadly, you must inform your sister dearest that I'm already woefully in love with another Evans woman who refuses to acknowledge my affections: your mum. Sorry, love, she's won my heart with her baking skills.

Keep the jumper; I've got loads. Besides, blue looks better on you than on me. Moving away from articles of clothing you may have come to have in your possession, tell me more about this shagging business. Did we finally meet up in Knockturn Alley and you taught me how to Head? How did I miss this new development? I have half the mind to apparate to your place and leave you a few of my t shirts as well. In fact, I should drop a pair of boxers off too. She'll have a coronary.

Lily Evans you utter slag you; inviting unsuspecting boys over to your house just to shag them. The shame.

Someone is amazingly self aware, aren't they? Yes, you are indeed rather scary which is why Sirius and I try to be on our best behaviour around you. Bloody hell, did McGonagall teach you how to glare like that? It's a right fright at times.

I was not crying like a little baby. That was just water on my face from the rain. I don't cry. I was merely showing you that I am warm and cuddly as you wanted to find out last week. And I was leaning against your shoulder for Merlin's sake. I was completely knackered. Who wouldn't be dead on their feet after spending a day like that only for it to end with you barely escaping death thanks to a feisty redhead and her quick wand?

As for the scar on my arse, why don't you find that out for yourself. Maybe then I won't have to 'accidentally' leave a pair of boxers at your house.

Sirius did point that out- you in my jumper, I mean. I don't know if he's written to the other gits and even if he did, who honestly cares what they say? Let them run rampant I say. I know I'm not snogging you (or getting up to any other sorts of things) and I'm pretty sure you know that too, so I figure we just go about as normal while the rest of the school speculates on whether or not we've been using the Head offices to, ahem, practice Heading.

I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good whenever it comes to you, love. You're just going to have to deal with that.

Thank you again for your pep talks and I look forward to being roughed up as you teach me how to Head. Normally I'd take the piss of you counting down the days until you see me again (oh all right, I know you're just counting down until the first but let a bloke dream all right) except that I've been doing the exact same thing since we came back from Diagon Alley the first time. I think I can manage to hold out for (now) four more days. When mixed with you, my patience is infinite.

Misses you more,  
James.

* * *

Dear James,

If we do go to Hogsmeade together, Sirius and they will have a field day. They'll probably walk around behind us, munching on popcorn and taking detailed notes on how often we breathe just to send to our mums. In fact, if muggle devices worked at Hogwarts, I'm fairly certain that Mary would have video tapped the entire thing. (A video tape is like an extended version of wizarding photography. Next time you come over to my house- in which we will not be shagging like my sister believes- I'll show you one. Perhaps Mary Poppins as that's one of my most favourite films ever.)

I do live off their fear, but I have to admit, I rather not run into all of them in the middle of the night. I believe the last words Wilkes said to me before we got on the train last term were 'Next time you cross my path I'll break your fucking neck, Mudblood.' What a charmer that one is. I'm positively swooning.

We need to start planning that prank. I can't wait. I'm so excited. I've never done anything like this before (although I'm sure you know that.) Yeah, the girls and I have done our fair share of mischief making in the past (remember in third year when your bag snapped at you whenever you reached into it? That was my own spell work) but never anything of this magnitude. Luckily for me, I'm working with the some of the best pranksters Hogwarts has ever seen. Be gentle with me, dear, it's my first time. Don't make me regret it.

Don't shove your head up your arse. 'All Evans women like me.' Pah! As if. I certainly do not like you one bit. Maybe you've managed to delude my mum and sister into thinking you're so fabulous, but not me. Nope. I've not been affected by the Potter Plague.

Okay, maybe I've been infected a little.

Just a little teensy weensy bit.

All right, fine. You're my mate, I've been full on infected for over a month now, and I am going to die a horrible tragic death due to expanding head syndrome. Goodbye friends. I'll see you on the other side.

In all honesty I do have half the mind to keep it. It's rather comfortable to sleep in. It's not fair that boys get all the comfortable clothes that actually do their job of being proper clothing (i.e. not allowing the entire world to see your undergarments when wet) while girls have to buy two and three tops just to get the desired effect. And you're right; blue is fantastic colour on me.

The only downside of me cavorting through my house in your clothes is that mum saw me in it last night (I still don't understand why she would have thought that she left her slippers in my room) and decided to give me the dreaded talk. I am never touching a boy again. I am off to a convent to become a nun or whatever it is that people in convents do because if I even hold hands with a boy I can hear all of those terrible, terrible analogies. My mind is scarred, James. If you hold any forms of affection in your heart for me whatsoever, you'll _Obliviate_ me at the next chance you get.

Petunia for her part was definitely laughing her arse off in the hallway. During the course of that conversation I heard several horse-like neighs that could only come from my sister. That's really rich considering that she's the one with the boyfriend and I'm not. If anything, mum should be giving _her_ the lecture on why having sex will lead to death. Honestly, I'm pretty sure any child I ever have (or not have as I'm about to begin my life of chastity) is not going to lead to my inevitable demise. That's just plain ridiculous.

No, I distinctly remember you crying and trying to crush my hand while your mum was healing your arm. And then you fell asleep on top of me while your mum went to fetch us some tea. You really know how to charm a girl, don't you Potter. Almost got me killed, made me pay for lunch and then dropped asleep (while still soaking wet, mind you) right on top of my shoulder before sliding down to my lap. How is it that you're not more of a ladies' man, I'll never know.

If by finding about that scar you mean that I can pants you in front the entire Great Hall, then yes. That would please me greatly.

You're welcome. Finally you stopped being a spineless ninny. Three days until we head off to the train. I'm so excited!

Not going to doubt that,  
Lily

* * *

Dear Lily,

I know how to get them off our backs: snog right in front of them for a good five minutes or so. They'll be stunned beyond belief and then we can head off to Hogsmeade. What do you say?

Don't mind me here, just trying to figure out a way that I can feed Wilkes to the Giant Squid without getting in too much trouble. So far the plan I've come up with involves an Elation Elixir, a couple hundred smoking salamanders and one of those muggle water toy things that floats. As for the prank, I can't wait on that. You'll have the experience of a life time. No one else can possibly even begin to compare to me- and the other Marauders of course. I make sure your transition from prank virgin to prank slag as easy and detention less as possible. You certainly won't regret it.

So you're the one I have to blame for those scars around my wrist. I'll concede, it was a rather impressive display of magic, but bloody hell that hurt a lot. I couldn't play quidditch properly for an entire week. I will get my revenge on you, Evans. I will. You have been warned.

You've been infected with Potter Plague. Oh ha, ha, ha. Very funny. Stop, my sides hurt.

Since you've gone and used my jumper as a sleep shirt then you should just keep it and get it over with. It's been tainted with your femininity forever. There's nothing I can do to save it now. It's gone.

(Blue does look fantastic on you, by the way. Such a shame we weren't in Ravenclaw, then you would look amazing while you cheer me on from the quidditch stands. Not that you don't look amazing in the Gryffindor colours, I mean. It's just that I know how you always complain about it clashing with your hair and such. You look amazing in that too, don't worry. In fact, you look amazing in everything even if you're not in clothes. I mean- I'm shoving my foot down my mouth again, aren't I? I need to learn how to shut up.)

I got that talk a year ago and back then I thought that I would remain the complexion of a tomato forever. I think it says in the how to guide about parenting that you must turn your teenager off of all things dirty by any means possible. I will _Obliviate_ you if that's what you want, but in exchange you have to promise to not go lock yourself up in some convent somewhere because first off I'll miss you and secondly, you'll probably get kicked out in the first fifteen minutes by saying something wildly inappropriate. I'm also fairly sure that the consequences of them finding you sleeping in a boy's shirt are much direr than what you were faced with from your mum.

I thought you didn't want to think about your sister doing the unmentionable with her boyfriend? You're sending me mixed signals here, Evans, although by now I guess I should be used to it. Did she really say that having a baby automatically means death? If that were to ever happen, I'd personally like to meet that baby because it sounds wicked.

No it does not mean that you can embarrass me in front of the entire school. Merlin, you've got quite a vicious streak don't you.

Am not a spineless ninny,  
James

P.S: Two and a half days left until we return. How shall we break the news of our friendship to everyone?

* * *

Dear James,

No.

Only you can allude pranking to sex, honestly. That must be some sort of crazy gift. Dirty minded git. If you are going to go through with your plan to feed Wilkes to the Giant Squid, then I'll be happy to help. The squid and I have broken up our short lived, yet passionate affair as he was jealous of another man in my life spending so much time with me. However, I'm sure I can talk him in to consuming that tosser. Will work on this as well as prank when we get to school.

Oh boo hoo. You're bluffing. Besides, you wouldn't dare try to get revenge on me. While you were drooling onto my lap, your mum exchanged several stories of your youth and promised to show me pictures next time I visit (I take it this means you'll be bringing me to your castle once more, although this time I hope that we're not dripping wet nor reeling from the aftershocks of a near death experience.) Get your revenge and I'll let those stories slip to the entire school. And pants you in front of them to show off the scar on your bum.

Good. I'm keeping the jumper. Just remember that you agreed to give it to me whenever you're looking for it. No take backs. This is mine now. I'm coating it in the aura of my femininity as we speak. Meaning that I'm just wearing that alone- I've just woken up, don't judge me- and it's already begun to lose its James smell and is beginning to smell like my shampoo. So unless you want to smell like Lily Evans all the time, then I suggest you leave me be.

(Sweetheart, your entire _leg_ is in your mouth. Both legs actually.)

All right, fine, I won't head off to a convent because no dirty jokes or comfortable shirts to sleep in? That's not my kind of life.

I'm going to ignore that sentence because if I don't I will stab you repeatedly with a blunt knife in places that should not be stabbed. Just think of it as you never being able to have children, okay? Speaking of children, babies are dangerous but I don't believe that they pose any sort of life threatening danger. What are they going to do? Drown you in their drool?

You are a spineless ninny with crap handwriting,  
Lily

P.S: You can prance around the Slytherins, stating that you spent your entire summer with a mudblood.

P.P.S: I just had to include that jab about your handwriting in there. For old time's sake.

* * *

Dear Lils,

Yes, it is a gift. Although you're the one who started it with all this 'be gentle, it's my first time,' business. Glad to know that you're onboard with helping me get rid of that wanker once and for all. My curiosity is peaked. Tell me, who is this man in your life that caused you to break up- so sorry about that by the way, would you like me to send you condolence ice cream?- with your one true love?

You play dirty. I'm going to have a strongly worded conversation with my mother about letting my secrets slip to you. She's just giving you blackmail material. I'm already your slave, how much more indebted to you can I be? Also, I do not drool when I sleep. Your lap is rather comfortable though and you must have relished the feel of having my head on there. Have I proved to you as yet that I am warm and cuddly?

Good, I don't want the jumper back. It's yours forever. And I don't think I can fit my entire leg in my mouth. I'm not quite that flexible.

See? This exact kind of behaviour is why you won't last a day in a convent. From now on I'll be wearing my quidditch gear around you since I rather not be stabbed in those places as I would like to populate the earth with a few more baby Potters before I die- be them murderer babies or not.

You don't understand what a truce is, do you? Because I'm the bigger person, I'm not going to say anything about your handwriting. Just a bit over one more day until you see my shining face again. I've started packing and it's a right nightmare. I have too much clothes. Perhaps I should give you some.

That plan sounds great so long as you accompany me in the prancing,  
James

* * *

Dear James

Not telling you who he is. That's a secret that I and I alone know the answer to. Sorry, love. Condolence ice cream is not needed. We both knew it was a long time coming. Our love could have never lasted.

Face it, your mum likes me more than you (didn't I tell you that already?) Now you can never escape me as I have sufficient blackmail to last for years to come. You have not proved to me that you are warm and cuddly, no. You'll do this tomorrow on the train. I'll use _you_ as a pillow this time for my mid train ride nap. I suspect Mary's been getting a bit uncomfortable with me cuddling with her so you're just going to have to deal with it now.

Well _I_ am very flexible. Just throwing that out there.

Merlin you're right; I can never last in a convent. Also, I think if any babies were to be murderers, it would be little Potter babies. I mean, have you met yourself? You're a right terror. Imagine a kid having you for a dad. Poor sod'll have terrible hair yeah, but he might also achieve world domination before he's potty trained so that's always good.

How about I wear your jumper and the two of us will prance around the Slytherins announcing our newfound friendship? I think that's a brilliant idea. I was packing too, that's why it took so long for this letter to arrive. Tell Wrock I'm sorry about making him wait. And I will welcome any clothes you give me with open arms because they are very much comfortable to sleep in.

Save me a seat on the train tomorrow, yeah?

Love,  
Lily

* * *

_~Fin~_

* * *

_**Well, this is it. The end. It's been a fun eight weeks. Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who took the time to read, review, favourite and alert this story. It means so much to us, especially considering that we never expected to get over fifty reviews, much less break one hundred, so that's always squeal worthy. Hugs and kisses all around to everyone who made that possible.**_

_**Some people have been asking for sequels and spinoffs and such, but we highly doubt that that would happen. What might happen though is that Nai may probably do a oneshot on the actual pseudo-date that those two twats went on. Probably. If she feels up to it. You can check out her tumblr (link on profile) for the when's and where's if it comes to that.**_

_**Thank you guys once more!**_

_**Lot's of love,**_  
_**Nai and Tish xoxo**_

_**:D**_


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